The Keeper
by Marie Carlson
Summary: The Battle of Helm's Deep is over but the war is just beginning. A message in tow and riding like the wind, our heroine gallops to Gondor. But will an episode from her past come back to haunt her? Sequel to the Messenger
1. Departure

**This was also originally under Rochelle Adams' name. It has yet to be finished so I'm going to work quickly to get it all back up. It's kind of sad that there won't be the reviews and such from before. But hopefully I'll still have readers that will make up for the loss. Anyway, this is the next one. I'm not quite finished but it's going to be done soon. Enjoy.**

**Copyright 2005 © Marie Carlson. All rights reserved.**

How can people keep going after so horrible an event? How do you pick up your life just where it left off when so much has been lost? In Edoras, the townsfolk seemed to be trying to continue life as it was- moving back into their homes, going about daily tasks, etc. But deep down many knew that after Helm's Deep, their lives would never be the same.

"Are you alright?"

A tall, blonde woman was broken from her thoughts and shifted her gaze to the elderly female who she had been buying some cloth from. She had done this every once in a while back when things were different and this older woman knew her well. But today –in fact every day- seemed to drag on without meaning or purpose.

She forced a faint smile, though her eyes did not mirror it. "I'm fine."

"Where's your pretty little sister-in-law? I haven't seen her around here for a while," the woman wheezed.

"Cerrarien has been feeling poorly lately," was all she said in reply. She didn't like talking of the sixteen-year-old with people outside of close friends. She was having a tough time coping with…what had happened.

The old woman showed an expression of understanding. "Well, I hope she gets back to her cheerful self again sometime soon." She smiled at her. "Good day to you, Ruthiel."

Ruthiel tried to return her smile, but found it difficult. "Good day."



A young man, decked in the rugged clothes of a Rider of the Riddermark, approached a hill that looked out across the vast plains of Rohan. The sun was just setting, making all of the hills look aflame with blazing colors of gold, red, purple, pink, and orange. It was enough to take his breath away and he wondered why he hadn't stopped to gaze at such a daily sight before. He reached the top of the hill and stopped.

"We survived," he said quietly. There was no need for him to look at the person standing next to him. He knew exactly what she was feeling and knew that his being there was just what she needed. Or at least he _hoped_ that his being there was just what she needed.

After a long pause she replied, "It all feels so bittersweet."

He glanced at her briefly. Her arms where slightly crossed, although this stance was difficult with her left shoulder still bandaged. Luckily, she wasn't using a sling anymore, although he knew she kept it with her, just in case. He turned back to the sunset. "He died for his country."

"But how long will his country last?" she asked, the edge of fear apparent in her voice.

"You heard about the beacons?" he asked quietly, still surveying the magnificent hues that the sun was casting on the fields of Rohan.

She nodded.

The beacons of Minas Tirith had been lit earlier that day, meaning that the kingdom of Gondor was calling for aid. It made everyone in Edoras realize how far this war was from being over. It also meant that men would be leaving to go fight, many knowing they would not return.

"Was it all for nothing?" she said uncertainly. Emotion was creeping into her voice, something that only happened when she knew he was the only one around. She didn't like people seeing her vulnerable and weak. He knew it.

_Was it all for nothing?_ Suddenly he turned and faced her, making her jump a little. There was a fire in his eyes, one that could match the fiery light of the sun that was sinking behind distant mountains. "Nothing is for nothing! Remember that. He died honorably and his death was for reason. Nothing is without reason."

She stared at him for a moment, surprise written all over her face and her green eyes wide. He had been thinking about this himself, wondering why such a man, such a friend, had been robbed from him in such a time. A friend with sound advice could've helped him so greatly.

After a moment he realized that what she needed was a place to rest her head, a place where she felt safe. He wrapped his arms around her and she just let herself lean on him. He gently whispered to her, trying to make her feel better.

"Don't worry," he whispered. "You're safe with me. You're safe." _I won't let anyone hurt you, Threwen,_ he added mentally. _Not again._ He felt her sigh and knew exactly what she was thinking.

_We're safe…but for how long?_

Finally the last rays of sunlight warmed their faces and then sank down beyond their view, preparing to rise again when the night was over. Threwen finally lifted her head from his shoulder.

"I should get going," she said softly.

He looked down at her, the struggle inside of him written in his eyes.

She smiled at him. "Rannyn, I said I know about the beacons. That also means I know the task that has been assigned to me. You don't have to hide it from me. You know how fast a rider I am and you know I have experience with these kinds of things. Now Théoden knows and he wants to use me." She stopped and put her hand in his, squeezing. "I want to do this."

Rannyn closed his eyes for a moment and then nodded. "Just please be careful."

She fixed her eyes on him, those green eyes that, to Rannyn, looked like emeralds. "I can take care of myself. No matter what, you are not my keeper." She smirked, a playful light in those emerald eyes.

He smiled back at her and leaned forward to plant a kiss on her forehead. Then she turned and walked toward her cottage, leaving him to wonder if he would see her again.



"Do you know what route to take?"

Threwen looked into those grey eyes that had been so caring ever since she first came to Edoras. Now they had a hint of worry in them.

"Cadoc, I've been there before," she said, slightly impatient to get going. Her horse, Asimma, stamped her feet on the stable floor, as if she could sense her owner's anticipation to start their journey.

"It's about a three days' journey," the old stable keeper said.

She smiled at him. "I've been through worse than a three days' ride, nonstop, to deliver a message. Don't worry about me. I'll be fine." She gently hugged him, sure to avoid touching the knife wound on his back, a remnant of the Battle of Helm's Deep. With a careful movement she swung herself onto Asimma's back, making sure her shoulder didn't get jostled too much.

With reigns in hand she looked back down at her friend. "I will not let Théoden down. Our allies will know that we're coming to their aid."

Her steady gaze gave reassurance to the older man and he opened the stable doors. With a light tap of her heels against her horse's sides, she was off, riding out of Edoras and on toward her destination. Cadoc watched her go.

_I only hope she gets there safely._

**I appreciate reviews, if you've got 'em.**


	2. An Unexpected Message

**Well, here's chapter two. There aren't going to be any major cliff hangers until a little later, but hopefully you'll stay tuned.**

"_Ahem_."

The old stable keeper, Cadoc, looked up from his dinner at the sound of his door creaking open and the clearing of someone's throat. Standing in his doorway was a young man, still dressed in his armor, with a slightly distressed look on his face. Cadoc's face wrinkled into a smile, his grey eyes showing that he understood completely.

"Come and sit with me, Rannyn. I think there's some cheese in the cupboard over there." Cadoc continued eating his dinner, which consisted mostly of eggs. He didn't like to kill his chickens as long as they were still giving him eggs to eat and sell. So far it looked as if he would make out alright, despite the shortage of food in those days.

The young man grinned and quickly went in search of his favorite food. As he rummaged through the man's cabinet, he didn't say a word. Cadoc sensed this and then broke the silence.

"She'll be fine, you know."

Rannyn slowly pulled out a slice of cheese and then seated himself across from the older man, the expression written over his features showing that he wasn't so sure. He bit into his snack and chewed in silence.

Cadoc continued. "She's done this sort of thing before, you know."

Rannyn looked up sharply. "You don't know the half of it."

His companion smiled. "Oh, I think I do."

The young Rider studied him for a moment and then asked, "How much did she tell you?"

_How much did she tell me? Hmm…_ Cadoc thought about it. He had been the first person she had told about her past, although he was sure she left certain details out. But he was pretty good at reading between the lines. "I know what happened to her when she was younger. And I know that she got involved with some bad things. I don't know details. But I do know she has an incredible experience with horses and knows how to ride with the speed and grace that it takes many to learn over a number of years." He stared back at the younger man. "She'll be fine."

Rannyn continued to scarf down his food, not saying much more. Cadoc knew that, at that point in time, all he needed was some company. After they both had finished eating, Cadoc took out a pipe and made himself comfortable. His friend sat in the same chair, silent.

Cadoc attempted to make small talk. "So, when does Théoden plan on moving out? I know that Eomer needs to be rallying some troops…"

Rannyn cut him off. "What do I do, Cadoc?"

The horse master glanced at him in surprise. "About what, my boy?"

He struggled with his reply. "I…she…she's gone!" The blonde looked extremely troubled.

However, instead of getting the response he wanted, the old man simply chuckled.

"What?" the young male asked crossly.

"Rannyn, Threwen is one of the most independent young women I have ever met. She's been through a lot, you know. I'm sure she can handle a simple ride to deliver a message."

"But she's headed…she's headed right into danger! She's not going to be able to leave once she gets there. There's no way!"

Cadoc thought about this for a moment, stroking his stubbly chin. "I see your point. But I don't believe anyone is safe anywhere these days."

Rannyn fiddled with the piece of cloth that had been wrapped around the cheese he had recently gobbled up. "I just wish I could be there. I wish I could protect her."

Cadoc started to laugh. "My boy, do you really think she'd let you do anything of the sort?"

The young man had to smile at that. They both knew how much she hated being seen as weak. If she needed to defend herself, she would.

"But what about her shoulder?" Rannyn asked, worry flooding back into his eyes.

"She's not going to let something like a gouge in her arm keep her from completing a task that will help her friends."

Rannyn smiled faintly. "No, I suppose she wouldn't."

Both men fell silent, consumed by their thoughts. This one woman had come sneaking into their lives, changing it forever. Both had been lonely and in need of a friend, someone they could love. And they had found her.



The heartbeat of both horse and rider seemed to become one as Threwen and Asimma raced towards the gates of Edoras. The young woman was completely oblivious to anything around her as she was only concentrating on the mission before her.

_I need to reach this point by morning_, she said to herself, as she pictured a map in her head. _If I only rest when it is necessary I should make it there in good time, although I need to be careful for—_

Asimma came to an abrupt halt, causing Threwen's face to fly forward into the horse's neck. She struggled to keep her balance and her anger in check.

"Asimma! What are you doing?" she said furiously, as she pulled herself back into a sitting position. She was about to swat her animal friend upside the head when she saw why her mount had stopped.

"Are you the one who's going to see Gandalf?"

This voice originated from a very peculiar source. Standing before her horse was what appeared to be a small child with a mop of curly hair and large bare feet.

_What in the world?_

She watched as he moved to the side of her horse and looked up at her.

"Little boy, I believe you should be at home at this hour…" she started.

"I'm not a little boy. I'm a hobbit." he pointed out to her.

Threwen stared down at him. "A hobbit…?" She studied him for a moment, noticing his unusually large and furry feet. "Alright…"

"My friend's gone with Gandalf. You're going to see him, right?" The little thing looked at her impatiently.

Threwen, not knowing what else to say to this strange creature, replied, "Well, yes."

_What in the world?_ she once again asked herself. This was a strange event, to be sure.

He slowly pulled out a folded and wrinkled note from his vest pocket and then held it up to her. "Could you give this to Mr. Peregrin Took?"

She hesitated. "I don't know. I'm only going to see Gandalf. I don't know if I'll see your friend…"

He looked up at her with pleading eyes. "Please, my lady. He's like a brother to me."

_Oh, who can resist that look?_ Threwen sighed and took the note from him.

"Who shall I say it is from?" she inquired, anxiously looking toward the gates.

_I need to get going…_

"Merry," he answered with a smile. "Thank you."

She glanced down at him again and then smiled, still a bit bewildered. Then he stepped out of her way, letting her continue on her path.

_Let's hope I don't have to stop anymore. Next time Asimma's reflexes might not be so quick._

**Well there ya go. I know, no real cliff hanger. Maybe next chapter I'll throw one at you. I'll see.**


	3. To Arms

**Here you go.**

Threwen was calculating again. It was normally a three days' journey to her destination. But she could try and make it in half that time. She was a skilled rider and knew shortcuts, having been to some of the more remote places of Middle Earth. And she had little time to waste.

"Asimma, we cannot stop until we get there." She gently patted her horse's neck, careful to keep her balance. It was no easy task riding with an injured shoulder. "Can you make it?"

As if nodding in reply, her mare pulled her head up and then down and started to go a little faster.

Threwen smiled. "That's the spirit."



_Cadoc's right. Everything will be fine. She can take care of herself, so stop worrying, Rannyn._

The young man walked briskly toward Threwen's cottage. She had asked him to stay there for a while and then go ahead and lock it up when he left. She wanted her possessions to stay safe and watched as long as possible. He jokingly told her that she was paranoid about her past being found out, but he only got a glare from that remark. He reached the door and stopped because a thought occurred to him.

_Since when would she let you take care of her to any large extent anyway? Besides, she told you that she's safe now, from _him_ anyway. He won't bother her anymore. _Rannyn smiled. _Besides, he has enough things to worry about, especially with someone like Willow standing on his doorstep. Yeah, she can take care of herself. Besides, she's been in these situations before._

With a chuckle, the Rider of the Rohirrim started inside when another thought struck.

_She's been in these situations before. But look what happened last time._

He stopped and his head drooped a little. Briefly he just stood there, staring hard at his hand on the door. Then he turned and sat down at a wooden chair that was sitting outside the cottage. By now it was very late at night. It may have been past midnight. But Rannyn wasn't tired. He sighed and looked up, gazing into the vast expanse of blackness speckled with stars that stretched out above him.

"Can't sleep?"

The Rider jumped. Rannyn was so startled that he nearly fell out of his chair. His eyes widened when he saw who was now standing beside him.

"Lord Aragorn?" he stuttered.

The man's face moved into a smile and he nodded. He leaned against the wall of the cottage, facing the young man. For a while Rannyn sat there fidgeting his fingers while the other man studied him briefly. Finally he spoke up.

"You are the friend of the one who is our messenger, are you not?" he asked.

Rannyn nodded. "Yes. She left a while ago."

Aragorn looked him for a few more moments and then said, "You were the one who recommended her." He lit a pipe and started to smoke.

Once again Rannyn nodded. He paused and then smiled slightly. "She's a good rider."

Aragorn smiled at this too. "I'm sure she is." Another pause. "Tell me, if you are the one who recommended her why are you so worried for her?"

Rannyn was a little startled at this comment. "I…I'm sorry?"

The Ranger grinned again. "I am assuming this is why you aren't asleep. You are a Rider and I'm sure you cherish a good night's sleep in a normal bed."

The young man nodded and looked at his hands. "Do you know what its like to be parted from someone you care about, sir?"

At this the heir of Gondor got a far away look in his eyes as he nodded his head slowly. He didn't even look at Rannyn as he replied, "Yes, I do."

_I wonder who it is,_ Rannyn thought to himself. There were rumors that Lady Eowyn seemed to have eyes for Lord Aragorn, but he couldn't be sure. As far as he knew, the man was only concentrating on fighting the enemy at the moment and aiding Middle Earth in its battle for survival.

Finally the man came back to the present and smiled at him. "I remember you. You were the one who asked me to deliver a letter. To Threwen?"

The young man chuckled and nodded. "Yes, yes," he said. "That was me."

Aragorn smiled and stood up straight, holding his pipe in his hand. He nodded to Rannyn and said, "Get some rest, son. Tomorrow we leave."

Rannyn watched the man as he went, wondering how so honorable a person could have so much kindness when it came to people he barely knew. His walk was a little tired and his boots stained from riding, but he was full of courage, a trait that was much looked up to by the men. He gave hope to others and Rannyn admired it.

The Rider looked after him as he disappeared in the darkness and then turned to go inside, thinking.

_He will make a good king._



"Rannyn, come on! Hurry! I don't want them to leave without us!"

Rannyn ran a hand through his blonde hair. He chuckled as he responded, "Blaennyn, we have plenty of time. Stop your fidgeting."

The younger of the two men sighed. They had both gotten up bright and early to pack their supplies and get ready for their departure. Blaennyn had come knocking on Rannyn's door much sooner than he was supposed to. For the majority of the time he had been trying to get rid of him but with no success. Finally a thought struck.

"You know what, Blaennyn? Why don't you go say good-bye to Cerrarien while I finish up, okay? I'm sure she would like to see you before you leave."

The young man brightened and winked at his companion. "Oh, now that's a good idea. I'll get right on that one."

Rannyn shook his head with a smile and then went back to fastening his pack to Isidien's saddle. His young friend set off quickly to go bid his girl farewell.

_Good riddance,_ he thought with a chuckle._ I was about to go out of my mind with all that distraction!_



_Smack!_

"Cerrarien, I need you to pay attention!"

The sixteen-year-old turned from the doorway to see her sister-in-law staring at her sternly, a piece of dough in her hands and another she had just splatted on the table. The blonde girl nodded without saying a word and was about to join her when she heard footsteps coming toward the cottage. She jerked back around.

A mountain of armor and breathlessness met her.

_Blaennyn_.

He looked down at her, breathing deeply. "Cerrarien."

She smiled weakly up at him. "When do you leave?"

"Soon."

"Oh." Cerrarien looked down at her hands and then quickly glanced over at her sister-in-law.

_Ruthiel, stop boring holes into me with those eyes!_ Those eyes were a little happy for her but also clouded with so much sadness that Cerrarien could hardly bear it. The woman was good at hiding it, while the young girl had practically had an emotional breakdown when everything from Helm's Deep hit her like a ton of bricks. Now she had calmed down about it, but she was still struggling. Ruthiel simply worked on, quiet and calm, although Cerrarien was sure that inside she must be falling apart.

Her female companion turned away and continued to work on kneading the dough for her bread.

Blaennyn cocked Cerrarien's face up and grinned. "Hey, cheer up. I'll be back before you know it. Don't worry, it's only a battle and we've been through one of those before and came out with hardly a scratch!"

She smiled at him. Always the optimist, that was Blaennyn. They looked at each other quietly.

"I'll be back. I promise," Blaennyn said softly, holding her shoulders and looking straight into her eyes.

She nodded. Then Blaennyn planted a gentle kiss on her forehead and then one on her lips and smiled. Cerrarien felt like everything was better when he smiled. He turned and walked back toward the stables to grab his horse and leave her once again.



Rannyn pulled himself up onto Isidien and glanced at Blaennyn, who was atop his own horse next to him. They both nodded to each other and started out.

_Here we go, to rally troops and then to arms…and war._

**Thanks for reading. I like reviews, if you like to comment. I promise I'll respond!**


	4. Recognition

**This is a long one but I wanted to give a cliff hanger so I added on another section with Threwen. Enjoy!**

Threwen felt like she was about to collapse when she finally crested the hill that she had been waiting to see for hours. Her face curled into a tired smile.

_There it is. Finally_.

She didn't think she'd ever ridden that hard before. She had made it in a day and a half and there it was. The White City. When one just peeks over the hill there is a huge valley below and the great White City looks like a stacked and layered cake. Now a dark shadow was stretching from Mordor, its charcoal black fingertips trying to mar the brilliance of the beautiful city.

Threwen looked down at her destination, wondering how in the world she was going to find Gandalf, let alone that little hobbit, in such a vast place. She was just about to start her descent toward the city when she looked in the direction opposite it.

_Osgiliath_.

The only time Threwen had been there was a long time ago when some orcs were occupying it. She had a message to the leader from Saruman and she had seen the place briefly. She didn't understand how valuable it was since it was all ruined, but she wasn't educated in matters of strategy so she assumed there was something about it that was essential. Its location, she decided. It was right in between Mordor and the city.

There seemed to be a commotion coming from the ruins of the town. Threwen gazed at it, straining her eyes to see what was occurring there. Suddenly everything became clear and her green eyes widened to the size of large marbles. Tiny black specks were crawling all through the rubble and she knew exactly what they were.

_Orcs._

With disgust, Threwen turned her gaze away and back toward the city. The people there needed the hope of their allies coming to help. And she was there to bring it.

"Come on, Asimma. Just a little ways to go."

She tapped her heels and the horse and rider began their decline down the hill and towards Minas Tirith.



"Did you hear that the half-ling is in the service of the king?"

Rannyn listened and watched as the men laughed at this comment. The half-ling was one of two hobbits that had been in Edoras after Helm's Deep. They had been with the Ents and were friends of Aragorn and his companions. One of them went with Gandalf to Gondor. The other stayed behind.

"What good can he do?" asked another. He had a scraggly beard and a scar cutting across his left eyebrow.

Blaennyn spoke up in his light-hearted and joking voice, as usual. "Oh come now, my boys. Imagine what a little thing like that can do! He'll lob their legs right out from under them!"

The men laughed at that picture and the subject was put to rest. Blaennyn came and sat down next to Rannyn who was sitting outside the circle of firelight. They were at Dunharrow, gathering troops. They had heard that they were leaving in the morning because the need was more urgent than they had originally thought. Blaennyn smiled kindly at his friend.

"Why the long face? You look so…" The younger of the two paused, studying his companion. "So…thoughtful…" He stopped again and then grinned. "Nah, you look bored."

Rannyn laughed. "I was just thinking about what they were saying."

Blaennyn took a sip from the mug that was in his hand. "What, about the Shire-ling?"

He nodded. "I can't help thinking that they're being too hard on him. He has a stout heart."

"Have you talked with him or something?"

Rannyn shrugged. "I've seen him and judging by my impression of him he's a very courageous little thing. From what I've heard, he's a rather bold fellow."

"Or a fool," came Blaennyn's reply.

The older of the two men sighed and ran a hand through his hair. They both sat there for a while- Blaennyn with his drink and Rannyn with his thoughtfulness. Finally the silence was broken when a commotion was heard a ways away.

_What's going on?_

Blaennyn and Rannyn stood up and walked in the direction of the crowd that was gathering. Finally they got to the point where they could go no further because men were beginning to get packed. They were at the wall of the mountain where it split into a narrow opening, allowing a single file line to pass through. But no one had ever dared to go into that mountain. No one went there and came out alive. Eomer had said that the mountain was evil. Rannyn struggled to see over the people and then murmurings went through the men.

"Lord Aragorn is leaving."

_Leaving?_

"Why is he leaving on the eve of battle?" someone near Rannyn asked quietly. This question was echoed by those around him.

"He leaves because there is no hope," was the reply.

Rannyn felt and heard the whole crowd go abuzz with comments of lost courage and despair. He looked toward that opening, seeing a few figures fade into the darkness and gloom and he felt something in himself fail.

_No hope?_

But then a voice spoke up, strong and deep. "He leaves because he must." It was Théoden, King.

The same man countered him. "Too few have come. We cannot defeat the armies of Mordor."

There were whispers of agreement and the men looked to Théoden, awaiting his answer. At first it was not what they had expected.

"No, we cannot." He paused as he watched the men's reaction. Then he said with fierceness, "But we shall meet them in battle nonetheless."

After that comment, in an instant, Rannyn felt that something come back to him, the something that seemed to have faded slowly but surely and then seemingly went out. But it was back. It was courage, valor, and the want to protect his country and his fellow men, even if that meant death.



Threwen and Asimma finally straggled up to the gates, both exhausted. Luckily someone saw her there from above, a soldier. He poked his head out and shouted down to her.

"Who are you?"

She sighed and swallowed. Her throat was parched. "I come with a message for Mithrandir." She paused and then remembered something. "And for the Half-ling." She didn't think this would matter much, but she threw it in, just the same.

The soldier studied her briefly before turning to converse with someone beside him.

_Come on! I've come all this way and they won't even let me in!_

Suddenly she heard the creaking of the gate. Asimma stamped her hooves, ready to get to a stable and some food. Finally the huge doors were open enough for them to pass through. They were quickly shut behind her. A soldier approached her.

"Mithrandir is in the higher levels of the city. I will have someone escort you to him. The Shire-ling is with him." He started to give her directions when he stopped and stared at her. Apparently he hadn't gotten a good look at her until then.

"Will my horse be taken care of?" Threwen asked, uncomfortable. Why was he staring at her?

He continued to look at her and Threwen began to wonder what it was that had him so entranced. Certainly it wasn't because she was so incredibly attractive. She had been riding on a horse through mud for a day and a half. That does things to your appearance, not to mention your body odor. Her hand began to instinctively go toward her hair, but she contained herself. She looked him square in the eye.

"My horse, my lord?" she repeated, looking at him evenly.

He was broken from his thoughts and there was a strange look in his eye. "Yes, of course." He motioned for another man to come take the horse. Then he gestured for her to follow him.

"Come, my lady. I must take you to Lord Denethor first." The soldier began to walk.

_All the way up there?_ Threwen leaned her head back to look at the citadel and the hall that was at the very top of the stacked city. _That's a long walk…_

The soldier asked her for her name. She hesitated and then answered. The man glanced back at her, looked her up and down and then nodded. His pace quickened.

"Make haste, my lady. The sooner we get to Lord Denethor the sooner your message can be delivered."

Threwen nodded and accelerated after him, wondering at his strange behavior.

_This is turning out peculiarly,_ she thought to herself. _I wonder what's going on. _

"Lord Denethor is the steward, is he not?" she asked timidly. It had been a while since she had been there.

The man nodded. "His son, Boromir, was recently found to be dead."

Threwen's eyes widened. "Dead?"

Again he only nodded. "I had served with him. Helped him take back Osgiliath a while ago, driving the last of the orcs back to Mordor."

Threwen wondered why it was now again occupied by orcs. She had seen them with her very own eyes and she knew what they were doing – preparing for battle. She was given little time to think on this though. The man turned back to look at her again and there was something in his eyes when he stared at her that startled her. Something she hadn't been able to place before but she knew exactly what it was now.

Recognition.

"Have you ever been to Osgiliath, my lady?" he asked coldly and meaningfully. He was looking right at her, penetrating.

Her blood ran cold.

_Oh no._

**Bwahahaha! Don't you wonder how this guy recognizes her? Hahaha. You'll have to wait and find out. Hehe.**


	5. Dawn

**Here's the next one. Just read.**

_Wandering in a dark and murky world, he groped his way, searching for something but not quite sure what that something was. He looked down at the ground for tracks of it and then up and around for signs of it in the area. But there was nothing but grey, drab and dreary._

_Suddenly, he heard a voice. It was a whisper and barely audible. He whirled around and tried to locate it but to no avail. He stumbled around some more, the voice haunting him and making him more and more confused until finally he sank to the ground in defeat._

"_Where are you?" he cried out._

"_Here," it whispered. _

_He turned around and there, from out of the gloom, she emerged. He got to his feet and tried to go toward her but she seemed to only get farther and farther away. Soon he was running, grasping at thin air in a hopeless attempt to get closer but she only got further away from him. Then, as suddenly has she had come, she faded into the mist, leaving nothing but an echo behind. He sank to his knees._

"_Threwen…"_



Rannyn awoke before the sun rose with a horrible feeling of dread. All night terrible dreams had plagued him, robbing him of his rest. These were dreams of Threwen and everyone else present in his life. And every single one ended in him experiencing a weariness and sadness that he couldn't understand. He knew that a vast amount of men would not come out of this battle alive, if any. He had had a small bit of reason to cling to, something that told him that going to war, no matter how insane the odds, was the right thing to do. But it was gone now. It was as if someone had stolen it from him in his dreams.

The young soldier, still sitting on his bedroll, ran a hand through his tossled hair and sat for a little bit. He knew he wasn't going to be able to go back to sleep and it was rather pointless to try when it was already so close to dawn. Instead he got up and packed, being careful not to awake Blaennyn.

_Rather pointless considering that young man could sleep through an Oliphant's trumpeting,_ he chuckled to himself.

Finally, seeing all his work was done, Rannyn slipped outside his tent and wandered around outside, eventually settling himself on a rock that looked over all the camps of men and riders below. The sky was beginning to get lighter every second and the sight of everything stretching out in front of him was breathtaking. He heard himself gasp.

However, this sound caused someone else in the vicinity to jump. This commotion, in turn, caused Rannyn to turn around. He had thought he was alone, as did the other person. He looked around behind him and then nearly fell off the rock he was sitting on when he saw who it was that had also been enjoying the view.

"My Lady!" he stuttered as he jumped off the rock and stood up. He felt very awkward at that moment.

But, ever the pillar of composure, the White Lady of Rohan just looked at him for a second, slightly surprised at seeing him but hiding it well. Then she simply nodded and looked back out into the distance, her golden river of hair streaming down her back.

Rannyn cleared his throat, uncomfortable. "My Lady, I am sorry if I disturbed you. I was just watching the sunrise and…"

She put a hand up for him to stop. "As am I."

The two sat in silence for a moment, staring out at the now brilliant orange skies that were getting brighter and brighter as they stood. Suddenly the lady turned to him and asked him a question.

"Why do you go to war?"

Rannyn was a bit surprised by this query. He thought about it briefly and then answered. "For my country and all the peoples of Middle Earth, My Lady," he responded.

She studied him and then asked, "Not for honor or valor?"

Rannyn shrugged. "I don't know. I suppose I really only want to defend who I love." The young man had to admit that he hadn't really thought of _why_.

The woman looked out at the dawn again and then, without turning away, inquired, "Do you go to die?"

The young Rider ran a hand through his hair, as he always did when thinking about something. It wasn't a conscious thing, but a habit. At that moment he was thinking hard. For one, he had no idea why the niece of the King would care about his opinion at all or wonder why he was going to war. He also wondered why she was asking him this present question- do you go to war to die? He looked at her.

"I don't really go to die deliberately, if you know what I mean." He again gazed out at the horizon and watched the soft light it was casting on the camps below, stretching out on to the hills in the distance. He finally got his answer. "My Lady, I suppose we all go to war knowing that we might die. This is a risk we all take. But if I die fighting for the cause that I believe in and if my death means people can be saved then I would definitely go to war to die. Not for honor or valor but for my people and to save the lives of the ones I love."

She stared at him for a moment, her face unreadable and seemingly cold. It was as if she weren't really looking at him. And then she nodded to him and left. Rannyn thought that that conversation was probably one of the most bizarre conversations he had ever had. But he was glad it took place because he had gotten back what he had thought he lost – a reason to keep on fighting.



"Come on, Blaennyn. Up and at 'em." Rannyn gave his companion's shoulder a gentle nudge but didn't succeed in rousing him. He tried to slap him gently on the face. "Come on. Wake up."

The young man pushed him away and mumbled something unintelligible. Rannyn sighed.

"I thought you were eager to get going," he commented.

Blaennyn sat up with a sour look on his face. "That was when I'd had a decent night's sleep," he muttered.

Rannyn just shook his head and said, "I already packed most of your things. All you have to do is get dressed. We're leaving soon."

His friend looked around. There was nothing else in the tent but his clothes and armor and his own bedroll and body. "My, we've been productive this morning. Did you sleep at all last night?"

"Nah."

The younger of the two scratched his head and yawned. "Well, I guess I'd better catch up."

Soon they were all packed up and strapping everything down on the horses. The sounds of hurried packing and the last minute sharpening of tools filled the air. Rannyn mounted his horse along with Blaennyn and the two started toward the edge of camp. The king and Eomer were already ahead of them and people all over were joining in the crowd. They were off to war. A Rider soon fell in step alongside Rannyn. He nodded to him.

"How far to Minas Tirith?" the other man asked. His face was somewhat shielded by his helmet.

Rannyn mulled it over and gave him an estimate. It was to be a bit of a ride, that was for sure. He studied the young man, wondering how he recognized him. "Have we met before?" he asked.

The young man shrugged. "Maybe."

"What's your name?" Rannyn asked, thinking maybe he had fought with him before but never heard his name.

"Dernhelm."

"I suppose we haven't met before then. I'm Rannyn."

The two nodded to each other again since they couldn't shake hands and then Dernhelm turned forward again. But Rannyn looked at the face, still pondering what he saw there. He knew he had seen it before but he couldn't place it. Suddenly it hit him.

_Lady Eowyn. She had the same look in her eyes. _It was disappointment and a slight depression mixed with a cold fire that Rannyn had never seen. This discovery startled him. Was this young man also questioning his reasoning for going to battle, as the Lady had been questioning of him that morning? He couldn't know.

Eventually the two got separated but Rannyn managed to stick by Blaennyn for the majority of the ride. The next time he encountered the young man he had the half-ling with him. Not wishing to question him about anything, Rannyn kept his distance but still marveled about that expression. It was so faded and yet so sharp. How could two people have the exact same look? He found himself staring at the youth from a distance. A clap on his back brought him to the present.

"Let's get something to eat! I'm famished!" Blaennyn exclaimed dramatically.

Rannyn blinked. "Yeah."

He turned away with his friend, never looking over his shoulder. But inside he thought, _Let's hope this Dernhelm can still fight with the intensity I saw in his eyes, even if he does wonder about his reason to go to war._

**Yeah, I know I didn't mention Threwen. I decided to make you wait for it. I can't go getting into the extremely interesting stuff too early on. So you'll just have to wait. lol. Thanks for reading!**


	6. The Past Comes Alive

**Yay! Update!. No flames so far, so that's encouraging. Enjoy!**

Threwen looked around her in wonder. This wasn't the kind of awe-inspired wonder. This was wonder at how much the city of Minas Tirith had fallen into decay and disrepair. There were few people out, as it was getting dark and those that were outside looked grim, their persons seeming misplaced, with their drab grey clothing sticking out against the backdrop of the white ruins of splendor and the scene of what was left from glory days long since gone.

_Wait. Why is it getting dark? It's a little early…_

Threwen lost her train of thought when she glanced up at the sky. It wasn't dark because the sun was going down. It was dark because the sun was being blocked out. An enormous shadow, dark as coal, had stretched forth its fingers from the fire, smoke, and ash of Mordor and was now reaching the city, causing everything to seem all the more dreary than it already was. Threwen shuddered. This was a bad sign and she knew it.

_Stop thinking like that._

She didn't have much of an opportunity to think like that anyway. Her escort was hurrying along, cautiously looking behind to make sure she was still there. Threwen knew he recognized her. And she knew he was going to do something. But the question was what? And when? She looked around her at all her possible routes. The place was huge and someone could easily disappear. Or at least someone _experienced_ could easily disappear.

_But that's exactly what you are. Experienced. And all you have to do is wait for the right time and bolt._

So that's what she did. She waited for her opportunity. And soon it came.



_Ow!_

Ruthiel winced as she pricked herself with the needle she had been using to sew up a skirt of Cerrarien's. She looked down at the small drop of blood that was forming on the very tip of her index finger. She stared at it for a second, wondering what had gotten her so distracted. And then she looked down at her stitches.

_Oh! Ruthiel, look what you've done! What a fine job you've done of completely messing this one up! It's a good thing this isn't one of Caraedry's pants. He'd have a fit_.

Ruthiel was about to put herself back to work taking out all the stitches when she stopped, realizing what she'd just said to herself. Caraedry. She suddenly felt her eyes pricking with hot tears that threatened to burst forth. Except they never did. Ruthiel tried very hard not to show her emotions. There were a few occasions where things slipped out, like when she saw her husband safe after the Warg attack on the way to Helm's Deep. But not now. She was going to be strong.

She was just in time too. Cerrarien suddenly charged through the door, her young face animated. She started babbling on about something that had happened in the stables, but Ruthiel wasn't following. She rarely ever did. The sixteen-year-old still acted like a teenager sometimes, although the older of the two women had to admit that the girl was still rather mature compared to many.

But then, many girls these days were more mature than the norm. They had to grow up when mothers were killed in orc and wild men raids or had to help take on the load of scraping enough food together to fill the bellies of their siblings because their father had died and the mother needed all the help she could get. These were dark days indeed and Ruthiel, having seen what could happen, feared that they were only going to get darker still.

"And then the foal—"

Ruthiel finally focused on the conversation and interrupted her young sister-in-law. "Cerrarien, what are you talking about?"

The girl sighed and started over, speaking, much to Ruthiel's relief, at a slow and steady pace. "I saw Cadoc help one of the horses with its foal. It gave birth today."

Ruthiel nodded and continued with her sewing. "That was probably interesting."

Then Cerrarien went on to say that she was thinking she would like to be a healer when she got older. "I didn't squeamish while Cadoc helped and I was thinking about how I would love to help do something like that, only with people. I would like to do something that will help them."

The woman glanced up, a proud look on her face. There were times when she had thought the young girl was never going to amount to anything because she was always going somewhere to see some person. But now that she thought about it becoming a healer suited her just fine. "You'd be good at that."

Cerrarien grinned and then went on to explain about a few of the herbs she had learned from a healer she'd met that day. Ruthiel suggested that she start their dinner so as the young woman was chattering away, she hustled about the cottage and tended the fire that was just outside, gathering a little food together to whip something up. They had to be careful though, because food was getting scarcer. Soon a pleasant aroma drifted into and filled the room.

"Would you like some stew, Ruthiel?" Cerrarien asked as she held out a small wooden bowl with the substance in it.

"Yes, of course—" Ruthiel was about to take it when a huge whiff of the stew drifted up to her nose. Normally she would've eaten it in a flash because she'd always been a big eater. But suddenly she felt horribly nauseous and she could feel her stomach lurch.

"Are you alright?" Cerrarien asked, a worried expression written on her face.

Ruthiel could only shake her head and she gently pushed the stew away. For some reason she just couldn't stomach food right then. Cerrarien studied her for a moment and was about to place the stew back in the pot but Ruthiel motioned for her to have it.

"Please, eat it, Cerrarien. We don't want it to go to waste."

"I could always heat it up later," the girl suggested.

Ruthiel shook her head. "It won't be any good by then. Besides, I don't think I'm going to be eating anything tonight." Upon noticing her sister-in-law's concerned expression, she smiled and added, "Oh don't worry about it, Cerrarien. I'm a twenty-one-year-old woman and I'm perfectly healthy. It's just an upset stomach."

Cerrarien finally nodded and began her dinner. And Ruthiel was perfectly content to sit and sew, trying not to watch her companion eat for fear it would make her even more sick to her stomach.



The soldier had stopped to talk with someone. Threwen didn't know who it was and, quite frankly, she didn't care. This was just what she'd been waiting for. It was her opportunity. And she took it.

_Just take a few steps and you'll be around the corner…_

Threwen quietly backed away. The soldier seemed fairly occupied with the other man he was talking to. He had stopped him because he was doing something wrong or something like that. Threwen hadn't really been paying too much attention to it. All she knew was that the man was distracting her guide and she could silently slip away without notice, giving her a head start.

_Only a few more…almost there…_

Threwen finally got herself around the corner. She quickly looked back around the stone wall, making sure the soldier was still arguing with the man. And then she turned and ran.

_There was a little nook we passed that I can duck into for a little bit and then I can quickly make my way to the gate._

All went according to plan. Threwen made her way there and got herself hidden just as a few soldiers made their way past her. No doubt they had been looking for her. She had been gone long enough for the soldier to have finished his conversation and noticed her absence. But she had been right. No one noticed her tucked away in a little niche, hidden in the stone. She waited for a little bit, trying to be sure that she had a clear shot at the gate. And then she darted out of her hiding place and quickly made her way to her destination.

_But what are you going to do when you get there? You need to find Asimma. What will you do if you can't find her? How will you get out?_

As she was thinking about this, she rounded the bend that would lead her straight to her way out and nearly ran smack dab into a soldier. Completely caught of guard, she stumbled backwards and fell to the ground with a thud. Her hand immediately went to her ankle, where she had a knife hidden. After Rannyn had discovered where she kept it in her pack when she had first met him, she decided to start keeping it on her actual person. Normally she wasn't this paranoid but she wasn't sure with the people there. If one recognized her, who else might?

But the soldier didn't even notice her. He was looking toward the gates. Threwen was about to dash away from there as fast as her legs would carry her when she followed his gaze to the doors. They were opening.

_Now's my chance! _

Threwen got herself to her feet and was headed toward the stable, passing swiftly and inaudibly toward her horse, which was still sitting there by the gates. Apparently the man whom the soldier had given Asimma to was not very efficient or very fast. She was about to haul herself into the saddle when she realized why they were opening the massive doors. She could only stare at what came staggering through the huge doors.

A horse, dragging a limp rider behind it.

Suddenly Threwen felt like she was going to be sick. Seeing the seemingly lifeless soldier like that, his armor askew in some places, caused something in front of her eyes to flash and, all of a sudden, she wasn't standing next to Asimma, watching the gateway of Minas Tirith. She was back in time, on the day that she had delivered that message to the orc in command at Osgiliath. She could see it all. There was the particularly ugly orc standing in front of her with the multiple piercings and rings stuck in his face. And then there was the small group of orcs sitting nearby, complaining about the bad food they had. And then she saw it.

As she was handing over the message and waiting to see if the orc wanted to give her a response to take back, she saw two orcs stumble into the ruin where we were located. They were lugging something behind them.

"We finished off the last of the group that tried to attack. We found this one still alive."

Threwen realized, with horror, that what they had in tow was a man, a soldier in Gondorian armor. He didn't look very alive to her but then she jumped, seeing that his chest was still rising and falling. He was definitely alive. But for how long?

The lead orc laughed, which actually sounded like a mix between a growl and a gurgle. "Well, what do you know?" He walked around the soldier, looking him up and down. Then he smiled at the two orcs. "Kill 'im."

Threwen had seen many acts of violence in her life, even though she was still young. But that one took the cake. Sure, she had seen bloodier ones and she had even helped in badly wounding some, maybe even causing them to die later on from the wounds she inflicted upon them. But that one act had been imprinted on her mind.

_Do you need to kill him_?

Threwen had been thinking that as she was watching the orcs get ready to do their work. _I suppose so._ She watched as an orc placed his blade right under the man's chin, ready to cut his throat. She was just about to look away.

But then the man turned his head. It was ever so slight, but it happened. He turned his head and looked her right in the eye. And she saw something there, on his face, which made her shiver whenever she thought of it. It wasn't fear. It wasn't courage. It was a cold anger. And it was directed totally at her. Threwen knew in that split second that that man thought of her as a traitor and he knew exactly why she was there. And he couldn't believe that she would do what she was doing.

And then he was killed. Right in front of her. Threwen had been too shocked to turn away but it didn't even bother her. Because she felt her whole body go numb. And that's precisely how she felt when she saw the lone soldier being pulled in by his horse. Suddenly she felt somehow responsible for his fate.

_You should get going…_

Threwen felt her head urging her to get on her horse and gallop out the gates before they could stop her. But her heart stopped her. She felt herself walking toward the man, who was now being aided by more men. They laid him on the ground and called for help, while Threwen knelt down next to him and just stared. His eyes were closed and he looked dead.

_Please don't be dead._

And then she saw it— the small movement of his broad chest and the shallow sound of faint breathing.

_He's alive!_

Threwen felt a weight lift off her shoulders and was about to declare this to the men around her since they seemed a little hysterical. Apparently the injured man had been someone important. But she didn't get the chance.

"You're coming with me."

Threwen felt a hand grab her and pull her to her feet. She found herself looking up into the face of the soldier and he glared at her, his dark eyes penetrating her menacingly.

"Wait—" Threwen started.

But he shook his head. "No. I'm taking you to where you belong."

Threwen looked back at the man as she was pushed by the soldier in a different direction. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to erase the memory of the man at Osgiliath. Then she opened them, gazed at the unconscious man again, and turned back around.

_Hang in there. Please, hang in there._

**Well, that's all for now. Hope ya'll liked it!**


	7. Developments

**Here's another one. Just to let you all know, when I talk about Ruthiel, Cerrarien, and Cadoc in Edoras, they're a little bit ahead of Rannyn and Threwen in terms of time. After this chapter I have to leave them alone for a while because I'll be dealing with the battle of Pelennor Fields which is going on while they're still sitting at home. Just an FYI so you don't get confused. That would be why its early evening in their time in this chapter while its only the afternoon in Gondor and with the soldiers. Just letting you know.**

"How…How long do you think until we get there?"

Rannyn turned his head at the bumpy and broken up voice of Blaennyn, riding swiftly beside him. They were still making their way towards Minas Tirith, but many of the man, including Rannyn, worried that they might not get there in time. The young man thought for a moment and then responded, saying he wasn't sure.

"Augh. This sure is taking a while!" Blaennyn seemed tired already, although Rannyn knew his companion was rarely out of energy.

"I hope we get there in time," was Rannyn's only comment.

Blaennyn glanced at his friend and gave him an encouraging smile. "Ah, don't worry about her. I'm sure she can take care of herself. From what I've heard she's amply demonstrated that." He chuckled.

_But if the battle starts and she's still inside and we lose…_

There were too many ifs for Rannyn to feel completely comfortable. He could only hope she was safe and in the care of the wizard.



Cadoc had had an interesting few days, with the departure of both Threwen, their messenger, and practically their entire population of men, who were riding to war. Also, one of his horses had finally given birth that day and he was left in a blessed peace and quiet for a while. Of course he wasn't ignorant to the danger they were all in. If the race of men lost the battle then it would probably be the end of Middle Earth as they knew it. But Cadoc was a simple man who was going to enjoy what time he had, whether it was long or short.

He had just seated himself to his early dinner when there came a knock on the door. He wondered who on earth would be bothering him since he didn't have many friends, with the exception of Threwen and Rannyn. He sighed, a little frustrated that he had to put off his meal, but he nevertheless got up and went to the door because he was still a little bit happy that perhaps someone was coming to call on him. He opened the wooden door.

"Good evening, Cadoc!"

The older man smiled. "Hello, Cerrarien. Come to check on the foal, have we?"

The young woman nodded, a grin on her face. She seemed to be doing well dealing with her brother's death, although he could tell that there were times when it bothered her. She had been pretty bad a few days ago, when everything really hit her but she had been doing better. Still, there was something missing in the girl, like the spring in her step had lessened. But the cheerful Cerrarien still shone through because nothing could quite quench it, even after the Battle of Helm's Deep and her brother's death shook her up so much.

Cadoc stepped outside into the light of the early evening and closed the door. "Well, let's go see it then."

The young woman's smile got wider and she fell in line next to him, quietly chatting about some more things she'd learned from the healer. She seemed very eager to become one and Cadoc thought that the job suited her. She was a people-person. He only hoped she didn't become too squeamish at the sight of horrible wounds. He asked her about this, wondering how she would respond.

"Well, I saw a lot of blood down in the caves when Threwen's shoulder started to get pretty bad. Ruthiel, who has some knowledge of healing, thought that maybe it was infected. I'm not sure, but it was still bleeding a lot and looked pretty serious. And I was scared," she admitted. "But I didn't get sick. I was scared because of the combination of everything…" She trailed off, staring in the distance.

Cadoc wondered if he had gone too far with the question, but she quickly came back to reality and nodded to the stable door, motioning for him to go in first. Cadoc was about to allow her to go in ahead of him when Ruthiel came up.

"Cerrarien, there you are. I was wondering where you ran off to. The healer stopped by. He wanted to show you something." She pushed a stray hair away from her face. It had fallen out of her bun.

The girl brightened. "Oh! Well I'll be there right away. I'm just checking on the foal with Cadoc here." She then asked if Ruthiel would like to come in with her.

"I'm not really one for animals but…" Her voice trailed off and she wobbled a little, touching a hand to her forehead.

Cerrarien grabbed her arm to steady her. "Are you alright? Is your stomach bothering you again?"

"No, I just feel a little woozy. I think I'll head back home." She started to turn back around but was still unsteady on her feet.

Cadoc shut the stable door. "Why don't we both walk you home? You _look_ a little woozy."

The healer was there waiting for them when the three returned. Cadoc bid them farewell and told Cerrarien to go ahead and visit the foal whenever she wanted, saying it was open for her. Cerrarien waved goodbye and all of them went inside as evening was coming on and Ruthiel needed to sit down. The youngest of the three got her sister-in-law a slice of bread and settled her down in a chair. Then the healer started going into detail about symptoms of different ailments and how to remedy them, saying he had just gotten a few more herbs and thought she would be interested in hearing about them.

"I know it's a little rude to intrude but when you're as old as I am you take advantage of what time you have," he said with a smile. His snow white hair was proof of his advanced age.

Meanwhile, Ruthiel tried to munch on her bread, blaming her weakness to her lack of food. Not only was food scarce but for the whole early evening and also that morning she hadn't been feeling well. First she skipped breakfast because she felt like she was going to hurl. By lunchtime she had thought was doing better but then the stew made her feel sick, and then she was shaky and now the bread wasn't helping matters any. She laid it aside in disgust and looked for something to do. She hated just sitting there. She was about to get up and fetch something when she heard the healer describing the symptoms for something.

_That's odd. That sounds like what I've been feeling…_

What alarmed her even more was when she heard what it was.

_That can't be…_

She pondered about the topic until the healer left, thinking then that it made perfect sense. Cerrarien started to get herself busy with another chore when she noticed the woman just sitting there, a dazed look on her face.

"What's wrong?" she asked, studying her.

"Cerrarien, that's just it. I know exactly what's wrong." She paused and shook her head. "And I can't believe I didn't put it all together."

The younger of the two looked puzzled. "What are you talking about?"

"Cerrarien," Ruthiel whispered, looking at her intently. "I think I'm pregnant."



"Sir, would you mind telling me who you are, where you're taking me, and why?" Threwen demanded, now recovered enough to want to know the answers to these questions. She had started hearing a ruckus outside the gate and she was sure the battle was about to start. She needed to deliver her message. The afternoon was going to fade into evening sooner rather than later and the people needed to be assured that help was coming.

The soldier looked annoyed, not to mention angry. "For your information, miss, my name is Rhadoc and I'm taking you to the jails."

Threwen pulled away, a look of horror imprinted on her face. "The jails? Wh…why? You don't even know who I am."

He glared at her, roughly grabbing her arm again. "Miss, I know exactly who you are. I am taking you to the jail because you are a traitor, a spy working for the enemy, and I intend to make sure you never get out of here."

**I hope my earlier comment helped this make a little more sense. In the next chapter I'll be dealing mostly with Threwen and then after that with Rannyn and the Battle. It will be a while before we come back to Ruthiel, Cerrarien, and Cadoc. **


	8. The Keeper

**Here's chapter eight and it's about Threwen, just like I promised. Hope you enjoy it!**

_Boom!_

Threwen ducked to avoid falling debris and coughed at the pieces of dust that she inhaled. The enemy had started moving and was now in position outside the gates, catapulting rocks at the city, causing many innocent civilians to lie dead or injured in different damaged areas. The young blonde only knew it was going to get worse. There had been a brief moment of panic, however, but it seemed that Gandalf, the wizard, had taken charge and was giving orders. The soldier hurried Threwen along to get to the prison.

"I've got a new one for you, Garan," the Rhadoc, the soldier, said as he entered the dark place.

Threwen shivered. Who was Garan? How long was she going to stay there? How was she going to deliver her messages? She didn't have time to ponder these questions because another impact rocked the place, quickening Rhadoc's already hasty errand of getting her thrown in jail. Threwen's view of this Garan character was still blocked since the light was shining inside the dark room from the doorway, making it nearly impossible to see from her perspective.

She heard a calm and less sneering voice ask, "What has this one done? It seems hardly sensible to have some petty thief locked away when battle is at our doorstep."

Rhadoc scoffed. "I don't need any of your wisdom and sensibility, Garan. This one's a traitor. You don't want her running around the city, gathering information and secrets, and then sneaking out to the enemy, now do you? Besides, I've seen her before, swapping secrets with 'em, with my own eyes! You can't deny that."

"A woman, is it? Well, let me get some keys and I'll get her a cell. She may be a traitor but she's still a living being and, according to me, she deserves at least some respect until it is proven she is guilty. Can you deal with that, Rhadoc?"

Threwen's eyes had adjusted some but she was standing off to one side and couldn't see this jail keeper named Garan. She liked the way he talked, whoever he was. Rhadoc sniffed, clearly annoyed, but let the jailer go ahead, pulling Threwen roughly by the arm. They didn't go down too far as the prison seemed almost deserted. The only inhabitants at that point in time was a scruffy old man (a liar and a thief, supposedly, among other things), a dark looking fellow, and a little boy who was only there over night to teach him a lesson (apparently he had quite the habit of stealing and his mother didn't mind him staying the night, if it would straighten him out).

"Will this do?"

Threwen looked up, now having a clear view of the man, and saw that he was rather young. Garan had a short, scraggly beard that matched the chestnut tone of his hair and his eyes were a murky grey color, distinctly reminding her of Cadoc's. She couldn't help but wonder if he wasn't as bad as she'd originally assumed he'd be.

Rhadoc broke her train of thought. "Yeah, that's fine. Probably better than she deserves." He pushed her toward the door of the room harshly but she brushed him aside and entered in a dignified manner. She was not going to go down looking weak. She hated looking weak. When she got inside and the door closed behind her, she turned around and stared evenly at her keeper through the large window slot in the door, in an attempt to show him that she was not afraid of a cell. But his grey eyes merely showed his slight amusement at her, along with the silent wisdom that she noticed was always present.

In all honesty, Threwen was a little scared. She kept hearing, not to mention _feeling_, the trembling and shouting of the battle that was starting just a ways away. She was now in a cage. If someone, like the antagonist in this little game of war, came in and killed the jailer, she could easily be killed. With nowhere to go, she was an easy target.

_Don't worry. When your chance comes, you'll break out. Just wait._



Garan wasn't exactly sure how to treat a female prisoner. He'd had his fair share of interesting people pass through that old place since he'd taken over for his aging father, that was for sure. But he didn't remember ever having to deal with someone as dangerous as Rhadoc said this young woman was. He noticed that she held herself in a dignified manner when she had entered that cell and had met his gaze with an unwavering stare. Most of the men who had committed horrible crimes, such as treachery and betrayal, either glared at him or avoided his steady look. But she didn't. She just met him head on, not in a defiant way but with a calm and firm expression.

_I wonder if she really is a traitor, as Rhadoc says. He claims to have seen her talking with the enemy with his own eyes, at Osgiliath, before it fell. Could it be true?_

Garan didn't know. What he did know was that she looked hungry. Maybe a morsel of food would coax out a story. He noticed that she looked awfully thin, probably as a result of the lack of food in Rohan (where Rhadoc had said she'd 'supposedly' ridden from) from the orcs and Wild Men that burned the crops.

The Gondorian left the hallway that led to the cells and retrieved some food he had stored. While he did believe in ample punishment for breaking the law, he also believed in 'innocent until proven guilty', an opinion which, at times, was not highly thought of. He hoped that justice would always be served, but with a government such as it was and with the dark days that seemed to have plagued them, much of the law had been left up to the soldiers and he himself. Garan got some thick bread and a bit of salted pork he had stored away and brought it back to the young woman.

_I wonder if she'll talk to me._

The woman looked up at him when he opened the door, her green eyes bright. He knew that she hadn't given up on her current situation.

"Would you like some food?" he asked, as he set down the food on the stool that was lying nearby.

There was also a rough wooden bench in the room, a rare and treasured piece of furniture among the many prisoners that had served their time in the dungeons of Minas Tirith. This was one of the better cells, with a window. It was obviously reserved for the less ruthless and black-hearted of the inmates. He had given it to her because he didn't like Rhadoc. The man's 'word of honor' couldn't be trusted.

The woman looked down at the food and apparently decided that it was fit for her to eat. She picked up the piece of bread and bit into it, chewing as if it were an everyday thing for her to eat in a jail cell with the jailer while a battle was going on outside. Garan decided that she was putting on a face and didn't want to be caught in a weak moment.

"Would you like to tell me what it is you did that got you stuck down here with me?" Garan asked, watching her finish up the bread and start on the salted pork.

Briefly, the young woman looked hesitant, as if she didn't want to talk to anyone at that point in time. But that feeling didn't last long. She began to speak, although her speech was brief and short but not exactly to the point.

"The soldier said I am a traitor. Do you not believe him?"

Garan couldn't help but smile. She didn't want to convict herself but she didn't want to appear to be lying either.

_Clever little thing._

"Do you?" he asked, staring at her evenly.

She chewed slowly and then said, "Not sure. He never told me what it is he saw me doing that made him want to accuse me of such a crime."

Garan, again, felt his mouth spreading into a slight smirk. "Well then, I suppose we can deduce nothing from the current situation, can we?"

The woman shook her head and finished up the food he had brought. Garan, seeing that there was probably nothing else to do, picked up the plate and prepared to leave, although he wasn't finished with his questioning. He had noticed something.

"Now tell me, if you please, what is your name?"

She watched him and then responded, "Threwen."

"There now, Threwen. Would you mind giving me that dagger you have strapped around your ankle? I can't let a 'traitor' like you having a weapon, now can I?"

Threwen was caught off guard and her emerald eyes widened. However, she regained her composure and slowly took the small knife out of its sheath around her ankle and handed it to the jail keeper. But there was one thing Garan noticed about her. Her eyes now had a trace of coldness to them, like she was now more wary of him than she had been before.

"Thank you," Garan said. Manners should always be present in the presence of a lady, he constantly reminded himself. He didn't think this should be any exception.

Nevertheless, when he closed the door to her room, he caught her eye through the small window cut into the door. Though her face didn't show it, her eyes glared at him. But he couldn't help himself. He winked. And then he walked back down the hall, carefully slipping the dagger into his belt on the side.

_Clever little thing,_ he thought to himself. _But apparently not clever enough._

**Well, that's all for now. I appreciate any comments you have.**


	9. Window into the Soul

**This is the next chapter. There's a lot of dialogue and thinking in Garan's point of view. Just read.**

_Stupid jailer! I thought I could possibly come to get his help! Obviously I was wrong about that!_

Threwen silently fumed at the way the jailer had oh so politely asked for her to just hand over her dagger. And then he had winked at her! He was smart, that was true, but he wasn't smart enough to know that she was there to deliver an important message to Gandalf, from the very king of Rohan himself! And, at that point in time, it looked as if it would never be delivered!

_Boom!_

A stone wall or tower of Minas Tirith must've taken another hit from the catapults, judging by the sound of the city's most recent shudder. Threwen had sensed the fear that emanated through the place when she was being dragged through its streets by her captor. And she knew that this was not a good sign. The men needed strength, needed courage, to stand up to the armies of Mordor. She didn't think they would win but at least they could die trying!

_I wonder when that pesky jailer will come back. I would like to have another word with him! More than that, if I have my way!_

Threwen couldn't help but pout at her current situation. She wanted out of that cell! But how? She needed the jailer's help.

_Wait! That's it! _

The young woman suddenly realized exactly what she could do to get herself out of that room and on the way to Gandalf. She looked around for something that she could use to get his attention. She needed him to come back in the room and the sooner, the better. Her eyes alighted on the wooden bench that was situated beneath the window.

_Perfect._



Garan jumped at the sound of a crash coming from the hall of rooms where the prisoners were kept. He wondered what in the world could cause such a sound. For a moment he was worried something had happened as a result of the battle that seemed to be growing louder and more dangerous with each passing minute. Garan knew they were higher up in the city and had more time before things started too serious for he, himself. The battle, he guessed, would mostly occur below, in the lower parts of the city, and in the fields of Pelennor.

Momentarily, Garan was alarmed about the possibility that some prisoners would escape through a hole blown in the wall by a piece of flying debris. By then, as he was traveling down the corridor, he realized that the sound had come from the female prisoner's cell. He sighed and became wary. He knew that she was probably a lot cleverer than she wanted him to think. But he figured he would catch her at her own game.

_It's a trap. Keep your head, Garan. _

The jail keeper was cautious as he peered in the door. He wanted to make sure that she wasn't waiting for him to open the door so she could hit him on the head with the wooden stool. But all he saw was the wooden bench knocked askew and a leg.

_A leg?_

Garan opened the door and gasped. The woman was on the floor, unconscious!

"Threwen?" he asked, kneeling down next to her, shaking her gently. He was a little concerned because she really did _look_ like she was unconscious, but he was careful, as he did not totally trust her.

The young woman stirred and in a groggy voice tried to ask what happened. "Wh…Wha?"

Garan righted the bench and helped her sit down on it, saying, "It looks like you fell off the bench or something."

Threwen rubbed her thigh which she seemed to have fallen on and then said slowly, "Yes, I remember standing on the bench to look out the window and then I felt like I was losing my balance and I don't remember anything after that."

"Were you wondering about the battle?" the man asked quietly.

Threwen nodded. She looked around and rubbed her shoulders, as if cold. "May I ask you a question, jailer?"

"Call me Garan."

She raised an eyebrow and then nodded. "Do you like being a jailer? I mean, you lock up people for a living, Garan."

She pointed this out as if it didn't seem like something he would do. Garan started to catch on what she was planning but decided to watch what she'd do.

"Well, my father was the jailer before me and he was known for being fair and treating his prisoners the way they deserved. It's kind of like a strange family business, if you will." He smiled.

Threwen seemed to contemplate this and then asked, "But what if you accidentally imprisoned someone who was innocent?"

_Ah, so she's going to try and make me guilty, isn't she?_

Garan stroked his chin as if thinking about it, then replied by saying, "Since that has yet to happen to my knowledge, it remains a 'what if' to me. The prisoners have always gotten the punishment that fit the evidence and the crime. Some may have been imprisoned unjustly but that would not be my fault. I am not their judge."

He could almost see her frustration towards him. She concealed it well but she obviously knew he had caught on to what she was getting at. She was going to try and get him to feel bad about imprisoning a poor woman who might not be guilty.

_Boom!_

They both listened to the sound and then she tried another approach.

"Have you ever seen a battle, Garan?" she asked, trying to seem a little frightened.

Garan caught on to that one just as quick. The point was to try and get him to want to fight so he would trust her enough to watch the prisoners while he was gone. It was a plan good enough to fool a fool but little else. She was rather desperate.

"Nah, and I don't really want to." He couldn't help but smirk at her scowl.

"Look, I need to get out of here. I came here to deliver a message to Gandalf from King Théoden and then that soldier, Rhadoc, accused me of treason, claiming he'd seen me before, and now I'm in here. I have a duty! Gandalf needs that message!" She was practically stomping her foot.

_Now that's different. She not only didn't use subtleties on me, she's supposedly a messenger for the King of Rohan._

"Then you are the keeper of an important thing," Garan said carefully. "Maybe you should have me or another soldier deliver it for you."

She simply stared at him briefly and then shouted, "Why can't I deliver it? It's my job! I'm not here to spy. I'm here to deliver it! And now you're keeping me in here for no reason!"

"I can't let you out because according to Rhadoc you're a traitor. He says he saw you riding to the enemy with a message right after they were defeated in an attempt to win back Osgiliath. That was before Lord Boromir, son of the Steward, regained the ruined city. Now, if he's right, that means you are indeed a messenger but for a different master." Garan studied her and then asked, "Are you a traitor?"

"No," she said through clenched teeth.

"Okay," was Garan's simple reply. He quickly asked another question. "Are you a liar?"

Her scowl got worse and she opened her mouth to respond. But Garan stopped her first.

"Now remember, if you are a liar, then you'll lie and say no. However, you could be an honest person and say no, you honestly aren't. Or, if you're an honest liar, you could actually say yes, that you are a liar." He sighed. "I suppose that makes it hard for me to decide. I'll probably just have to judge you by your eyes. The eyes are the windows into the soul, you know."

The young woman closed her mouth because she looked thoroughly confused. She sat for a moment, trying to understand his words. Finally the light seemed to come on in her head but when she didn't respond at all, even though she comprehended his meaning, Garan knew her answer.

"So I guess I can't really believe you when you say you aren't a traitor." He gazed at her, trying to figure out what she was thinking. She was hard to predict.

She took a deep breath and said, "I can honestly say that I am not here as a traitor to spy on the people of Minas Tirith. I am simply here to deliver the message to Gandalf." She sat for a second and then added, "And a message to the half-ling that came with him."

Garan studied her, knowing that she chose her words carefully. "But you do not deny the allegations laid against you concerning your involvement with the orcs at Osgiliath? Does that mean you were there?" He had risen from the bench and was walking around the room, piecing things together. "And if that is the case, how can I trust you? How do I know that you weren't a spy back in Rohan? Maybe you asked for this task so that you could escape to the forces of Mordor and therefore be protected."

The young woman simply stared at him, her face only showing that she was taking in everything. But he did notice that she had a rather defiant look in her eye. He continued his theorizing and his strides.

"Or maybe," he said, "That you _used_ to work with the enemy but don't anymore. Maybe you turned from your ways and your delivering this message is sort of a way of trying to cover what you did. Maybe now you're working for the king to make up for it because you're guilty."

He had stopped his pacing in front of her and watched as a slight change came over her eyes but it only lasted a second and then they became as hard as a piece of jade.

_Well, well. It looks like we know the truth now, don't we? The eyes are the windows into the soul._

He noticed that they had been staring at each other for a while. He broke away and resumed his route around the room and ended his speculating.

"Or, perhaps, you are completely innocent. If that is the case, I am sincerely sorry." But he knew exactly what she had done.

_So she used to work the enemy. She probably _did_ deliver that message to Osgiliath but isn't doing that sort of thing anymore. And now she has a guilt complex. _

Garan stopped in front of her again, looked at her, and then sat down next to her. She still stared ahead, her back straight. Momentarily they just sat there, him smiling to himself that he knew her little secret, or at least some of it, and her gazing at the door, as if she could will it open.

Finally he said quietly, "Threwen, you know I can't let you out. I know that you did _something_. And with that knowledge I can't trust you."

She slowly turned toward him and he saw that there was despair in her eyes. It caught him off guard because he had not expected to see such an emotion displayed so plainly in those green eyes.

"You don't understand," she said, her voice slightly shaky. "I _have_ to deliver that message!"

Garan looked at her and then asked, "What is the message?"

"I need to tell Gandalf that the army of Rohan is coming to aid them!"

"What good would that do? They lit the beacons. I'm sure that they assume they are coming."

Threwen sighed. "But the men need hope. They need courage to keep fighting. If they know that their allies are coming, they will fight harder, I'm sure!"

Garan shook his head. "We cannot win this battle by hope. Even if Rohan comes, the armies of Mordor are too strong. You are delivering a false hope."

She looked back at the door, but not as if she was looking at a door. She was looking at something else that Garan couldn't see. "Not a false hope. A faint hope. It is something to cling to."

He watched her some more and then it dawned on him. "Oh, I understand. You feel like you _have_ to deliver it because it will prove your loyalty to the King. You feel like doing this proves that you're willing to help. Am I right?"

She didn't respond and simply continued staring. Garan sighed and got up from the bench. The conversation was over. He needed to think about the wisest decision in this one. She was right about the message bringing some hope to the troops. But it seemed a rather useless message now and if Rhadoc knew that he had released her, he would be furious. Garan didn't know if he wanted to risk his job or worse for this mysterious woman who had shown up at his jail that day. He sighed again as he walked down the hallway.

_I need something to drink._

**Aha! Now Garan knows her secret, or part of it. Will she tell him her story? Or does she have something else planned? I suppose you have to wait until the next chapter to hear Threwen's feelings on the conversation. I appreciate comments, if you want to give 'em.**


	10. Escape

**Hope you like this, even if it is a little short.**

Garan was just sitting himself down to a nice snack when he heard another commotion coming from the cells.

_What is it this time? Another clever plan hatched by our newest arrival?_

He pulled himself out of the chair, rather reluctantly, and shuffled down the rows of cells. It was late afternoon and the din of battle seemed to be growing worse. Garan feared that they would soon be coming in the direction of the jails. This, of course, would be bad and he had been contemplating how to handle it. However, for the time being he thought it best to find the source of that sound, hoping it wasn't the enemy.

"What in the…?"

He stopped when he came to the cell of the woman. Threwen was nowhere to be seen! The window was intact, along with the door. Garan, immediately suspecting a trap, opened the cell cautiously. There was no use taking any chances with her because he had no idea what she was capable of. He was also reminded of the knife he had confiscated from her. It was still safely secured in his belt.

"Threwen?" he called out, gazing into the corners of the room by using the light from the window. He could hear the loud sounds of battle coming from the opening. He began to edge toward it, wanting a glimpse of the din.

Suddenly he felt himself knocked to the ground, his elbow striking the hard stone, causing him to wince in pain as blood started to seep through the fabric of his shirt. He rolled over to find the woman pinning him down, a fierce look on her face. Her emerald eyes seemed to be wondering what to do with him. He also noticed a trace of pain in them.

"What do you think you can accomplish by jumping me?" Garan asked, quickly trying to use all his strength to push her off him.

However, quick as flash, her hand whipped out, grasped the small dagger that was tucked in his belt, and placed it at his throat, pinning him to the ground again. The very expression on her face warned him from trying to move.

"Alright," he said calmly. "That's the way it's going to be, is it?"

He watched as she looked out the door of the cell. He tried to roll out of the way but she pushed him down again.

"Keys," she said, her eyes hard.

Garan put his hand down to get them from his belt and placed them on the floor next to them. He watched as she still thought about what to do next and he began to think she wasn't as threatening as she seemed.

"Are you really going to hurt me, Threwen?" he asked, staring her straight in the eye. Garan knew there was a weakness in there and he planned on reaching it. "Do you think you can do that?"

Glancing at the arm that wasn't holding the knife he saw a small spot of blood soaking through the fabric of her clothing. She was injured although he wasn't sure how it happened. That explained the pain in her eyes and he realized how hard it must've been to knock him down.

For a moment she hesitated, the knife still poised at his throat. Though her hand did not waver, the cold resolution in her eyes did. For a split second Garan thought she would let him go. But then the eyes turned hard again and she grabbed a fistful of his hair.

"Yes," she said in response to his question. "I can."

With that she slammed his head against the ground and his world was plunged into darkness.



As much as Threwen hated hurting the jail keeper, she needed to get out. It wasn't just because she needed to deliver her message, since she knew it wasn't all that important. Garan had pointed this out to her. She just wanted out. She hated being caged like that, especially when there was a battle going on around her and she was virtually helpless in that cell. Besides, Garan wasn't seriously harmed. He would just have one big headache when he woke up.

_Now, to find Gandalf._

A familiar face and an ally was something she was craving at that point in time. She rushed out the cell door, locking it on the way out. After a few hesitant steps she remembered how to escape the place and hurried to the door. Once out, she turned down the street, relatively sure of where she was going.

_I'll find a soldier and ask him where to find Gandalf. _

She started on her search but soon found she needed to sit down because of the pain in her shoulder. Staging a fall from the bench and then knocking down Garan had really taken its toll on her wound. She knew she wasn't supposed to overexert herself but these were odd circumstances. Besides, she had a high pain tolerance. She could handle a little pain. However, touching the tender area resulted in a spot of blood forming on her hand. She realized that she needed a new bandage.

_Gandalf first, bandage later._

Rounding a corner Threwen nearly collided with a soldier. For a moment she was afraid it was Rhadoc but the large man simply brushed her aside, looking behind him frantically. She tried to ask him where the wizard was but he just ignored her and hurried down the lane in the opposite direction from which he had come. Wondering at what was going on, Threwen looked down the street. More soldiers were hurrying away from a loud noise around another corner. Threwen felt a knot form in the bottom of her stomach.

_Oh, no._

She stopped another soldier. "What's going on?" she asked, fear grabbing hold of her.

The soldier didn't seem to notice her for a second but then he looked down at her. "Miss, you should get away from here!" he exclaimed. "The battle is no place for you!"

_The battle?_

The soldier moved on but she tried to stop him again. "Wait!" she cried.

Then she heard a noise that sent chills down her back. It was a low growl that caused her to slowly pivot around, not conscious of the swarm of men that were running past her in an attempt to get away.

_A Warg._

**The next one is coming soon. **


	11. Friends

**Read**.

With a moan after feeling how sore his head was and with a sign of exasperation at noticing his prisoner was gone, Garan heaved himself onto the nearby bench and slowly rubbed the goose egg on the back of his noggin. He shouldn't known she would pull a stunt like this, especially since it seemed she had previously worked with the enemy. She probably knew all the tricks of the trade.

_I guess I thought I could reason with her. _Garan sighed again. _I guess I was wrong._

A loud noise from outside jarred him from his thoughts. The battle seemed to be growing worse _and_ getting closer. Garan knew there couldn't be too much time left for them. From his standpoint, the entire scenario was hopeless and there was no possible way for the people of Gondor to win such a large scale battle with the forces of Mordor. It seemed this prediction was entirely right. By looking out the small window of the cell at the sky (which was darkening with smoke and ash) and down at the fields below (which seemed to be swarming with orcs and other enemies), one could tell that all was going to come to end sooner rather than later and the world of men would not be the victors.

_Threwen. You've got to get Threwen._

Garan quickly, but rather clumsily, stumbled out of the cell and into the hallway, extremely thankful for an extra key he kept stashed on his person. The few prisoners that were left in his keeping he felt would be safer trying to find a place to hide in the city than staying locked in their cells. From the sounds of it, the battle could reach them at any minute and he didn't want them to be left defenseless, even if they were thieves. The little boy who had been placed in the jail to teach him a lesson about stealing was supposed to have been picked up by his mother earlier that morning but she had never shown up. Garan feared the worst for her. He quickly released the boy and gave him rapid instructions.

"There's a back exit from this place and you can reach it if you just follow the hallway. It will lead you to a back street. Follow it to find a safe place with some soldiers." Garan pressed a small knife in the boy's hands. "In case the worst should happen," he whispered.

With wide brown eyes that were full of both fear and courage, the boy nodded firmly. He had to have been about twelve or thirteen. Garan wished he at least had a sword he could've given him.

"Be careful!" he called out, as the boy disappeared down the passageway. With a fervent prayer that the young man would be alright, the jail keeper set out to find his escaped prisoner. And he had to find her fast.

Ë

"You there!" Garan called out, grabbing hold of a nearby soldier's arm. "Wait!"

With a wild look in his eye and a nervous glance around him, the soldier finally made eye contact with the jailer. A noise startled them both and they turned to see a soldier slay an orc with a quick stroke, another group of military men rushing up away from the lower parts of the city.

"Have you seen a woman come this way?" Garan asked, trying to keep the young lad's attention.

_Focus, my boy, focus!_

The soldier looked at him, bewildered. Suddenly a light went on behind his eyes, the memory registering somewhere in his confused and fearful mind. "Was she fair haired?"

With a sigh of relief, the other man nodded. "Yes. She came this way not too long ago."

This time the soldier nodded. "She stopped me to ask what was going on. I warned her to stay away but she wouldn't listen."

Garan frowned. "She went in the direction of the battle, you say?"

He nodded. As the noises grew louder, the soldier broke away from Garan's grasp. "I hope you find her, sir." With that he took off away from the commotion, leaving Garan to find Threwen as best he could.

Ë

The number of soldiers fleeing the ever-growing amount of enemies that were invading the city was increasing steadily. Garan noticed that there were just as many enemies that lay dead as there were of men. It didn't seem too bad from where he was, but Garan's location was farther up in the city and most of the intense fighting was down below, at least as far as he could tell. He rounded a corner, hoping he was at least catching up with his quarry, when he stopped dead in his tracks. That particular street was deserted except for one or two orc bodies and maybe a few corpses that he knew belonged to his race. There was only one thing alive and at that point in time it was distracted. But not for long.

The sound of bones crunching and meat being torn apart was all that could be heard, although Garan was sure his heart was pounding loud enough to give him away. The predator that lay before him had not yet sensed his presence but he knew this was only for a short period of time. He was going to need to make a run for it and fast. The only question was where could he run to?

"_Psst!_"

Garan couldn't take his eyes off the sight that lay before him, although he was sure he had just heard something whisper, hoping to get his attention. But he dared not move. The thing in front of him, he knew, had extremely sharp senses.

"_Psst!_"

There it was again! Garan was positive someone was there but he didn't think he could reach them in time. He didn't even know where it was coming from.

Suddenly he stiffened. The creature that had been devouring a body had suddenly stopped. It had yet to turn its head but it was listening. Garan wasn't the only one who'd heard the whispers. And now those whispers may have cost him his life. The man could see the animal had tensed. It was now looking in the direction opposite him but that would only be for so long. The sound of quiet sniffling had replaced the noise of tearing flesh, although it was not at all a relief.

_Thump._

Another sound. Garan wasn't sure about this one. Could be bad. Could be good.

_It's good_, he decided.

He was right. His enemy quickly turned in the direction of the sound, down another street that was out of sight. Garan waited, his limbs beginning to ache from standing still for so long. Just a few more steps and the animal would be out of his sight. He had only to wait for it…

The creature had not been out of his vision for more than a moment when he felt something latch onto his arm and drag him into a dark corner, out of the street. He nearly cried out and reached for some sort of weapon. He was sure he had another knife stashed somewhere on him, he just needed to get his hands on it. But whoever it was that had grabbed him quickly clamped a hand over his mouth and shushed him.

"Garan," came the whisper. It was a female's voice.

He nodded and the hand was removed from his mouth. "Threwen," he replied.

"You're lucky I was here. That Warg would've ripped you in two." Without waiting for a response, she motioned for him to follow her. Garan took a shaky breath and was soon at her heels, wondering what exactly had just happened but not willing to ask.

They made their way down a smaller side street that was darker. The day seemed to be getting on. Garan wondered if they would even make it to the night. It was at this point in time that he also wondered if Threwen even knew where she was going. She was obviously not a native of Minas Tirith and the streets and levels could confuse a person. She also seemed to be slowing down. Come to find out he was right: she had no idea where she was going.

With a tug on her arm, he tried to pull her to a stop. This didn't go over well. She jerked her arm away and her face contorted painfully. Garan frowned and then gently took her arm and looked at it. The limb itself seemed fine but the fabric of her clothing near her shoulder was wet. Blood.

"You're injured," he said. He gestured for her to sit down on a crate that was nearby. This seemed to be a back street and there was no one around. Garan figured it was safe for them to rest for a second.

Not wanting to invade the woman's privacy, which would embarrass them both, Garan looked for something to wrap around her shoulder on the _outside_. Further searching in the area resulted in a dusty blanket. It wasn't very thick and seemed very used but, with a little brushing, it looked doable. He ripped a piece off and gently wrapped it around her shoulder. She didn't flinch but he knew she was in pain. She couldn't appear weak and her guard was up, he could tell.

"That's better, isn't it?" He glanced up at her but found no reaction. Her eyes were still as hard as ever. She was in escape mode.

"We need to get moving. Mordor's forces have broken through the gates and are flooding the city." She slowly stood up and surveyed their surroundings.

Garan sniffed as he got up, dusting off his knees. "You have no idea where you're going. Let me lead the way." He started to get in front of her but she glared darkly at him.

_She doesn't trust me._ He couldn't blame her.

"I promise that I won't trick you. I know a safe place we can go. Well, as safe as can be right now." He looked right at her. "Can you trust me for now?"

After a long moment she nodded. And after an even longer, extremely quiet walk, the pair reached a back door. It was farther up in the city and the sounds of battle seemed to have died away a little. Garan put a finger to his lips, signally quiet, and slipped inside, followed by Threwen. The room was dimly lit, most of the light coming through cracks in the miniature wooden door that covered the window. At second glance a young boy could be seen sleeping on a small bed. The house seemed very small, maybe two or three rooms. They were in the back room.

Garan sneaked up to the boy and lightly tapped his shoulder. With wide eyes, the young man looked up at Garan and then his face lit up. He threw his arms around the large man and Threwen, who was standing near the door, saw the relief in his eyes.

"Where's your mother?" the jailer asked, holding the boy at an arm's length.

The young boy, his dark curly hair tossled, smiled and nodded to the doorway across from them. That was the first time either of them had been aware of the young woman standing there, watching the whole scene. She had a knife in her hand that she had obviously been using as a weapon, in case there was trouble.

Garan got to his feet and walked over to her. "Naeven!" He had reached her but did not embrace her the way he had embraced her son. He simply laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. She had dark brown hair that curled like her son's and her brown eyes were large and observant.

"Garan, I'm so glad you're safe!" Naeven exclaimed. "How fares the battle?" A concerned look appeared in those brown eyes and she studied his face.

The man just shook his head and said nothing, for the sake of the young boy in the room. The latter was now staring curiously at Threwen, who was extremely uncomfortable under his scrutinizing gaze.

Naeven had noticed her now too. "Who have you brought with you, Garan?" she asked, her tone changed from before. She regarded Threwen with a now suspicious expression.

Garan glanced at her, wondering how to explain how his afternoon had gone. Finally, he simply replied, "She's a friend."

Naeven nodded and said, "A friend of Garan's is a friend of ours. Come; let me get you some food. You both look tired."

**There you have it. **


	12. Regrets

**A/N: Enjoy the chapter. I hope I made the ending clear enough and if not, think back to an episode in a previous chapter. Here ya go.**

Naeven wasn't exactly sure how to handle having Garan appear with this strange fair-haired woman who had a mysterious look to her. It didn't help matters that Garan seemed to hint that the battle wasn't going well. Naeven knew that it could come to their doorstep very soon. They were located pretty far up in the city but the enemy catapults were powerful and she had already felt the reverberations of the impact of the gigantic rocks hurled at them.

_How long can we last like this?_ she asked herself. She eyed her son, seeing how relieved he was that his mentor was safe with them. But how long would they be "safe"? Suddenly something caught her eye.

"You're injured!" she exclaimed.

Naeven looked at the young woman's shoulder, which was wrapped up in a not-exactly-clean piece of cloth. A small spot of dried blood was situated near the end of her shoulder and Naeven thought that it looked dangerously near her heart. The owner of that shoulder glanced down at it and then up at her, a tired expression on her face. She looked like she hadn't had any sleep in days and her bright green eyes, for a moment, didn't look as cold but rather like they'd seen more than they should have for so short a life.

Garan sighed. Naeven had been getting food for them before she noticed the wound and the young woman had stood to help while Garan sat down at the small table. He studied the girl's shoulder and then turned to Naeven, a hopeful look in his eyes.

"Do you think you could help bandage her up? I did the best I could with a blanket I found but I'm afraid it didn't help much."

Naeven brushed a curl out of her eyes and looked the woman up and down. She didn't even know her name and she seemed so distant. They didn't trust each other and both of them knew it. But she was Garan's friend so Naeven nodded and motioned for the other female to follow her to the back room. The boy had since moved out to talk with Garan. Naeven smiled at the two and then closed the door behind them.



Threwen could sense the other woman's cautiousness. But for some reason she felt too tired to hold up her wall as strongly as normal. She hadn't slept in so long and her entire arm ached. She knew that all of the activity of the last few days was a bad idea but since when had she really listened when her head told her what was probably best for her?

_What am I doing here?_ she suddenly asked herself. Really, she was probably better off on her own. She knew that if she stayed in this one place long enough she would feel the responsibility to help this woman and her son. It had already happened with Garan. She had been lucky to avoid that Warg and she should've hightailed it out of there but she stayed when she saw that the jailer was in trouble. And she also wondered why she was so prone to do this.

"How did this happen?"

The soft voice jolted Threwen from her thoughts. Despite not trusting her, Naeven was helping her. The other woman motioned toward her shoulder as she cut a piece of bandage.

With some hesitation Threwen finally replied, "I got in a fight."

Her current companion frowned but didn't say anything. She motioned for her to remove the piece of blanket and let her see the wound. Threwen did so with a grimace at how tender it was. She knew should've grabbed an extra bandage from Asimma's saddlebag before she was taken away. She scolded herself because of this prime example of her being so caught up with other thoughts these days or, rather, thoughts about other _people_ these days. In all honesty, Threwen thought that all people did was complicate things.

Her attention was brought back to Naeven as the woman studied the gash. Her furrowed brow worried Threwen. Naeven must've noticed that Threwen was watching her because suddenly her face changed to a calm look and she started to bandage up the wound. As she worked, she talked, and Threwen wondered if she was experienced with this, for she knew exactly what questions to ask to get her mind off her shoulder.

"I'm sorry but I don't know your name," she said, her face not exactly smiling but not exactly frowning the way it had been before.

"Threwen," she replied plainly. _Keep it simple._

"So, Threwen, how did you meet Garan?" Naeven asked, concentrating on cleaning out the injury.

Even though this was a perfectly commonplace question, Threwen wasn't sure how to answer. "I only met him today but I suppose we've been through a lot."

"What do you mean?" the other woman asked, still looking down at what she was doing.

Threwen thought for a moment, knowing she had to choose her words carefully. "Well, both of us ran into a Warg but luckily we got out of it. We've gotten out of a few scrapes today."

The female nodded. "It's a good thing you did too. These are dangerous times."

Both were silent and to Threwen it seemed like ages. Her arm burned and Naeven's fiddling with it didn't help matters any. However, it was nothing like what she had experienced at Helm's Deep so she was fairly sure she could handle it. She wondered what she could ask Naeven to get the conversation going again because she needed a distraction.

"What is your son's name?" she asked politely. Mothers loved talking about their sons, or at least so she'd seen from her short life little experience.

Now Naeven really did smile. "Addraran. He's eleven and wishes he could fight in the war." Her smile faded and her face grew dark again.

Threwen wondered about something but wasn't sure how to ask. Finally she figured that since Naeven had asked questions, so could she. "I don't mean to pry but where, um, where is his, uh…" Suddenly Threwen thought maybe that question wasn't the best idea. However, Naeven didn't mind answering.

"His father?" she sighed and finished tying the bandage around Threwen's shoulder. She looked up at the blonde, her brown eyes sad but strong. "He died a few years ago. He was a Gondorian soldier and was killed trying to win back Osgiliath."

Threwen felt her heart skip a beat and then she asked unsteadily, "How long ago was it?"

Naeven sighed again and said, "Quite a while ago. A few years, I suppose." She looked up at Threwen again with those big brown eyes and Threwen felt herself growing cold.

Though she wasn't sure she should, she pressed her for a little more information. "Wh…what did he look like?" She wondered if her companion could hear the trembling in her voice.

But apparently she didn't because she stopped for a moment and then said, smiling, "He had light brown hair that he never took care of." She laughed at that. "And he had the most beautiful hazel eyes that would sometimes look green if they caught the light just right." She had a faraway look in her eyes now and Threwen felt like an intruder, as usual. It didn't last for long however. Naeven was brought back to reality and then smiled at Threwen, as if she understood her caution and wanted to be her friend.

_But we can't be friends_, she thought as she watched Naeven clean up and start fixing her son's bed on the other side of the room. Threwen knew that they could never be friends. She couldn't take that step. Not this time. She closed her eyes, thinking back to that day. That day when she had witnessed the horrifying murder of the last remaining Gondorian soldier that tried to take back Osgiliath. A Gondorian soldier with light brown hair and hazel green eyes. And she knew that she could never be friends with Naeven. Because she had viewed her husband's death, seen the look of hate in his eyes when he noticed her watching his approaching doom…and had done nothing to stop it.

**Ooh. Drama. Well, I'd really appreciate your comments.**


	13. Keep Up Your Guard

**A/N: Happy reading.**

Naeven was carefully watching Threwen out of the corner of her eye while she fixed Addraran's bed. She looked like she was in a daze or was thinking back on something that haunted . Her face seemed to have turned to stone, fixed with a chilling expression in her eyes. The young Gondorian shuddered at it. Who was this woman and where did Garan find her?

_And why did Garan feel he should bring her with him?_ Naeven felt emotions rising up in her as her thoughts went from her husband to Threwen to Garan and then back. But she pushed them away. This was no time for thinking about how she felt about people. Right now she had to concentrate on taking care of those people that were still alive as best she could. She turned to Threwen.

"Would you like something to eat? I'm afraid I never got anything for you."

Threwen didn't respond for a moment and then looked up at her, caught off guard, as if she hadn't expected the young woman to speak. "Oh, yes, thank you." She rose from where she was sitting and started to follow Naeven out of the room, but stopped, reached for something near the bed, and then held it out to her female companion. "I believe you left this here."

The knife. Naeven stared at it, glinting dully in the little bit of light that filtered into the room. She knew it wasn't too sharp but it was sharp enough. Sharp enough to do damage. Sharp enough to protect her son. Sharp enough for Naeven to want it in her possession and not Threwen's. She took it from the blonde and nodded her thanks, unable to speak at that moment. Threwen regarded her silently with veiled eyes and then continued out of the room, leaving Naeven to contemplate who Threwen really was, why she couldn't be open to someone who was a friend, and what on earth all four of them were going to do should the battle reach their doorstep.



_Watch your step. Keep up your guard. You can't relax. _

Threwen had seen the cautious look that surfaced in Naeven's eyes as she had passed through the doorway. She had seen a woman who though kind enough to want to be a friend to Threwen was also determined to protect Addraran at all costs. And Threwen knew she had to be on her toes.

The pair came back out to the table where Garan was telling the boy a story of an adventure he had been on with a man named Moran. The boy was smiling, apparently happy to be distracted from the sounds of the battle just a few levels below them. Those sounds seemed to have gotten closer since the last time she'd paid much attention to them. Much closer. It seemed the enemy was making progress and the heroes were losing ground. Fast.

Naeven went to go make something sustainable for her guests while Garan finished his tale, mirth and a hint of sadness tinting his grey eyes. She wondered what had become of this Moran. Her answer came quicker than she'd expected.

"And so he managed to get out of the fray without a scratch on him!" exclaimed Garan with a chuckle while rubbing his stubbly chin thoughtfully.

Naeven broke in to their conversation, saying, "Yes and Garan had a black eye and a lump the size of a goose's egg on his forehead!"

Threwen had to chuckle at that. She had managed to leave quite a lump on Garan's head earlier and she wondered what the woman would say in response to that. Actually, she wondered what Naeven would say in response to the fact that only a little while ago Threwen had been one of Garan's prisoners. She wondered what both of them would think if they were to find out too much about her. Garan had already learned a lot. More than Threwen was comfortable with.

Garan smiled. "I'll never forget that one. Moran never let me live it down." He continued to rub his chin.

Addraran looked up at his mother and said, "They were real adventurers, weren't they, Mama?"

Naeven rolled her eyes and said, "Garan and your father used to get into trouble all the time when they were young. You'd best learn from their escapades."

Threwen's heart skipped a beat. Moran was Addraran's father. And from the sound of it, Garan's best friend. And it was partly her fault that he was dead. She now had a name to go with the face that had loomed before her like a shadow ever since she had set foot in Minas Tirith. _Moran._ Threwen swallowed hard. She felt like she was going to throw up. Guilt can do things to you and she had carried around so much guilt for so long…

"Are you alright?" Threwen heard Naeven ask. She was about to respond when there was a loud crash outside the house, followed by more noises. Everyone in the room went still.

Threwen watched as in one split second the door flew open, Addraran ran for his mother's arms and he was snatched up by the quick hands of an orc of Mordor.

**Well, there you are. I appreciate any comments you have.**


	14. Complications Arise

**This may seem a little confusing at the end and I hope it didn't travel too fast. I'm just kind of going with the flow. Let me know how I'm doing. Thanks.**

"_Addraran!"_

Naeven couldn't keep her mouth shut. Her son was now staring wide-eyed into the ugly and twisted face of the orc who held him with a firm hand. She was right there, watching and waiting for something to happen. Garan was standing by his over-turned chair. Threwen was in the doorway between that room and the next, surveying the whole scene with her bright, keen eyes. No one moved, save for Addraran who wiggled a little in the orc's clutches but was soon silenced with a snarl.

Naeven, as a mother, felt two things in that moment. One was complete and total fear for the boy who had been her meaning for life since he was born. The other was sheer, determined will to save that life. It was the latter that caused her to attempt the following.

_The knife._ It was lying right next to her, on the table. It was within reach. She would have to be quick. Luckily she was. With a sweep of her hand, the knife was firmly placed between her fingers and was ready to be thrust in the heart of the villain that lay before her and as she charged at the hideous creature he was so surprised that he dropped her son and took a step back. This didn't save him. Naeven slammed the knife straight into the enemy's chest and they both fell to the ground, one breathing no more and the other trembling.

Garan immediately went for the little boy. He was fine although still staring wide-eyed at the orc, a look of awe on his face as he regarded his mother's small form. Threwen attended to the latter, helping her to her feet and turning her away from the corpse. Naeven could only imagine what was going through everyone's head at that moment but she was took shaken up to care.

"Addraran!" She called to her son as she sank into one of the chairs. The young boy ran into his mother's waiting arms, both holding each other tightly. Garan wiped his brow and Threwen still stood silently off to the side, not sure of her place in this picture.

_Boom!_ _Crash!_

Noises of a battle that had reached their refuge were heard by all in that room. The door was still slightly ajar and the sounds of clashing metal and grunting exertion from both sides entered the house with jarring clarity. No one moved to close it. They were too busy breathing in what had just happened to even comprehend what was about to happen next.



Threwen was not at all sure how to react to a mother's fury. Everything had happened so quickly that she was still processing it. The orc snatching up Addraran. Naeven grabbing the knife. The orc dropping Addraran. And Naeven killing the orc. It all seemed so…unexpected. And now the mother and son were holding each other so tightly that Threwen didn't think they'd ever let go. She glanced at Garan. Both of them looked at each other and then down at the orc.

_I will never forget this moment_. Threwen was sure of that. She was also sure that she would never look at Naeven, a seemingly calm woman at first, the same way again either.

Naeven stroked her son's hair, relief written all over her face. "Shh," she soothed. "We're okay now. We're safe now."

Garan nodded to the orc and said quietly to Threwen. "Do you think you can help me move that elsewhere? Can your shoulder manage?"

Threwen hesitated and then nodded. Garan was strong. He could carry most of the weight. The pair moved toward the dead body.

_Creak_.

Threwen saw the door move ever so slightly out of the corner of her eye. Garan didn't notice and continued to try and pick up the front of the orc, grunting slightly under the weight. Threwen didn't budge but watched the door. It inched open another little bit and Threwen knew something was outside.

"Garan," she whispered. He stopped and looked at her. She motioned toward the door.

"What?" he asked, a puzzled expression on his face.

Suddenly the door flew open and another orc attempted to come in, nearly tripping over the body of the first. Threwen glanced out the entrance long enough to see a glimpse of what's going on outside. A group of the ugly minions were sweeping through the street, fighting the few soldiers that stood in their way. A Warg loomed in the background, ready for anything to come near it.

"Garan! The knife!"

Threwen heard Naeven call out but she knew that he wouldn't get there in time. The orc was closing in on him, obviously wanting to get rid of what he thought was his only threat. He had no idea what the women in that room were capable of.

Garan reached for the knife that was lying on the ground but tripped over the foot of the dead orc, sending him sprawling on the floor. The enemy orc saw his chance.

_Think, Threwen, think! There's bound to be something!_ The blonde looked frantically around her, searching for something that she could use to incapacitate the present danger, but all she saw were common household tools. It only took a few seconds and suddenly it occurred to her. _Your dagger!_

Grabbing the weapon that was concealed in her skirt, Threwen dashed over to where Garan lay in the path of the orc and prepared to swipe the enemy across the heart. But she was too late. The orc came crashing into her, knocking her to the ground with a thud. Pain rushed through Threwen's shoulder and she realized that she had landed on Garan's foot, the tip of his boot painfully lodged right in her wound. But she didn't have time for pain.

With a gurgling laugh, the orc stood over her, ready to plunge a crude sword into her back. Threwen rolled over and pulled at its ankle, causing it to fall to the floor with a thud. With a strangled yell, Threwen jumped up and over to the orc, bringing down the dagger with so much force that the creature didn't have time to think. With a gasp, she sank to the floor, grabbing at the air to keep herself from falling.

_My mission. I won't be able to…_

Threwen could feel the blood soaking through the bandage on her shoulder. She could feel the heat of the cut, the pounding of her heart, the pulsing throb of pain. But all she could think about was finishing her mission, contacting Gandalf, somehow helping in this battle. She _needed _to help. It was going to be her redemption. The message didn't matter anymore and she knew it. But she wanted to be there, to do something, _anything_ to aid the forces of good. She couldn't help feeling that it would somehow make up for her work for the forces of evil which she had been doing for so long.

"Garan…" With some difficulty, Threwen edged herself up a little, leaning heavily against the wall behind the door, which had been slammed shut in the commotion. The noises of the battle were still going on but it sounded like soldiers had come from the higher levels. Threwen felt herself getting dizzy but she _had_ to say something.

The man's head came into view in front of her face, his brow furrowed, grey eyes filling with an uncertain concern, as if he wasn't sure if he was supposed to be worried about someone who had caused him so much trouble only a little while ago. "Threwen." He laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, putting pressure slowly to help stop the bleeding.

"I need…I need you to…" The room was spinning. Threwen concentrated on keeping consciousness long enough to tell someone.

"Naeven, come here and put pressure on this while I get some bandages." Garan moved out of the way for the young woman and quickly moved about the room, looking for clean cloth.

Naeven glanced nervously at the door, worry shadowing her face. Threwen knew that she had to tell someone in case the worst should happen. She grabbed the collar of Naeven's coarse blouse, causing the poor woman to jump in surprise.

In a ragged voice she said, "In my pocket there's a note addressed to a Mr. Peregrin Took. I need you to…" Pain racked her body but she pushed through. "I need you to try to get it to him. I…I promised…"

Naeven looked at her, a confused look on her face. "I don't know…" she started, glancing at the door again.

Threwen tightened her grip on the collar of her shirt and forced the dark-haired woman to look her in the eye. "I gave his friend my _word_."

The Gondorian woman nodded and looked in her pocket. The small, wrinkled envelope was there, the name written across it in a script that looked odd to Naeven, but she didn't ask. She took it and put it in her own pocket, giving Threwen a look that told her that she would try her best.

At the edge of consciousness, Threwen knew that it shouldn't matter to her as much as it did. Her messages hadn't been that important. But she _had_ to get the letter from that hobbit to his friend because she had given her word. It was her redemption, her way to show herself as a person of honor who wasn't going back to her old ways. She didn't care if no one would know about it except for a handful. It would mean a lot to that hobbit and to his note's recipient, Mr. Peregrin Took. And that's what mattered.

Her eyelids fluttered and then there was black.

**So there you have it. It may seem a little confusing as to why she's so desperate to have her note delivered but you have to put yourself into her mindset. She's done all these horrible things in her lifetime and she's been given a chance to start over and she feels that by doing this she'll somehow prove to herself that she's changed and that she's not going back. I hope I made that clear. It's starting to wind down and I pretty much know where the rest of it is going. There should be about ten or more chapters left. Hope you guys have thought this a decent sequel. **


	15. Revelation

**I finally figured where I'm going next and it's not going to be too long before this one ends. We see a lot of Naeven and you'll probably be happy with how I ended it because of who pops in.**

"Let's get her settled in the back room."

Naeven and Garan carried an unconscious Threwen to the bed in the back of the small house and Naeven re-bandaged her shoulder. There were still noises outside, sounds of battle, the ground being rocked with the impact of huge stones from the enemy catapults. Naeven wondered if it would ever stop. Except she knew that it would only stop when every single one of them was either dead or enslaved to the Dark Lord of Mordor. She would rather die than being under his control.

Garan seated himself next to the bed with a heavy sigh. Addraran came in and perched himself in his lap, staring wide-eyed at the woman who had saved their lives. Garan rubbed his stubbly chin absently and studied her, as if wondering how to handle the situation. Naeven watched them both and then joined them in looking down at Threwen. The letter that she was now going to have to try and deliver to a Mr. Peregrin Took felt heavy in her pocket. It's like it had been this young lady's dying wish. Why? Something about keeping her word. But wasn't that a little drastic?

Naeven's gaze traveled through the room. Her home. It wasn't much but it had kept her son safe in the time since his father had died. She'd been working in the Houses of Healing before Moran went to fight. Since then she'd been scraping by. If it hadn't been for Garan she didn't know where she'd be. He had been such a good friend, protecting them and keeping them together. Without Garan she would've fallen apart quite a while ago.

She glanced at the person that occupied her thoughts. Addraran had his head resting against Garan's shoulder as the large man assessed the situation. She had to smile, despite everything. This was her family. Both of these men were her family and, for now, they were alright and in one piece. Then those grey eyes were looking into hers with an expression she couldn't quite place. They held it for a moment. But only a moment before the spell was broken by his voice.

"Naeven, you're a healer. I have a question for you."

She nodded. She knew she needed to inspect Threwen's shoulder. From what she could see it had occurred recently, was rather serious, and hadn't been taken care of very well, which was why she had passed out after having it impaled by Garan's shoe. It had opened again and needed to continue to be cleaned out and kept from use. Naeven didn't think Threwen would die but if it got infected that was another story. Infected was bad.

Garan asked his question. "What do you think caused it? The wound, I mean."

"She said she got in a fight, although she hesitated when she said it and didn't go into details. Why?"

The jailer scratched his chin again and then sighed. "I met Threwen when she was brought into my jail earlier today. She broke out and I went after her. She saved me from a Warg and we came here."

With eyebrows arched in surprise and a look of concern in her eyes, Naeven's stare whipped back to Threwen. She was a _prisoner?_

Garan nodded. "A soldier claims he recognized her from a few years ago. Said she was working with the enemy. A spy."

Now it was time to get angry. "And you brought her here? To my home? Near my son! Garan!"

He grimaced and replied, "I have reason to believe that she was in trouble but is clean now. I promise you that I would never put you or Addraran in danger."

The aforementioned little boy was now asleep in Garan's lap, although both adults knew this wouldn't be for long if they got into an argument. Naeven pushed a stray strand of dark curl out of her face and then put a hand to her forehead. Everything that day seemed to be going wrong. First there's this stranger, then her husband is brought up, Addraran is nearly killed, and now she finds out that she's harboring a fugitive of some sort?

Garan gently got up and placed the young man back in the chair. Addraran moved momentarily to get comfortable but never woke up. Garan motioned for both of them to go into the other room. Naeven hesitated, looking at the woman in her bed, taking into consideration the fact that her son was in the same room with this…this criminal. Finally her male counterpart took her arm and led her to a chair.

He cleared his throat. "Now, what do you think caused that wound?" he asked calmly.

Naeven looked up at him. She didn't know what to think. Quietly she replied, "It couldn't have been an accident. She was definitely in a fight. But it doesn't look like it was meant simply to injure. It's too close to her heart. Whoever stabbed her…it was…"

"It was meant to kill. And it wasn't an amateur either." Garan looked at her and then said in a small voice, "She was at Osgiliath."

Naeven looked up at him, not comprehending. Or maybe not wanting to comprehend.

"Rhadoc brought her in, claiming that he saw her delivering a message to the orcs in Osgiliath right before it fell. Said he was sure it was her." He glanced back at the room, talking more to himself now. "She couldn't have been too much older than sixteen. Can you imagine? Involved in that kind of work when you're still a young girl?"

Osgiliath. Where her husband had died. She had been working for them.

The letter. The dark-haired woman slowly pulled it out of her pocket and stared at it. Was it a legitimate letter? Maybe it was spy information being smuggled to this Mr. Peregrin Took. Why else would Threwen be so desperate to get it to him unless it was important data for the other side? Surely a young woman capable of being involved with the orcs of Mordor wouldn't actually feel the need to keep her word to whoever wrote this letter. Why not destroy it? Throw it into the fire.

She had been at Osgiliath. Her husband had died at Osgiliath. Threwen had probably delivered the order to kill all in their path. She might have even seen Moran. Might have even wondered who he was. Might have even killed him. Naeven had seen her kill that orc. She could have killed her husband or men like him.

But Naeven had also killed today. Killed to protect that which she loved: her son. Hadn't that been what Threwen was doing? Protecting them? Or was she just protecting herself? How could Naeven be sure about anything? Garan _had_ said that Threwen had saved him from a Warg. Why would she do that when she just escaped from him? This woman was such a puzzle.

There was now a hand under her chin, lifting her face up. Those grey eyes were filled with concern. And hers were filled with tears. The strong arms were around her and she rested her head on one of the shoulders, relieved to simply be held.

"Ssh," came the whisper. "I'm sorry I upset you."

Naeven pulled away and wiped her face with the back of her hands. She looked up at Garan and then down at the letter that was still in her hands. There was only one way to be sure.

"Let's open the letter."



_Dear Pip,_

_If you're reading this letter it means that I've gone to battle. I know you thought this was a little big for us. But then, we're both bigger than the average hobbit aren't we? We have Treebeard and Fangorn Forest to thank for that. _

_I'm writing this and sending it with the messenger headed to Minas Tirith to tell you that you're my brother. We used to get in trouble all the time and I always had to bail you out. We've seen Gandalf's fireworks together, stolen mushrooms together, been kidnapped together, and survived together. I hope that one day we will go back to the Shire together. But, if not, you'll have this letter to tell you what a great friend you've been and how you're my family_

_If Gondor wins the battle, come look for me. I'll do my best to defend that which I love, including the Shire and all it's values. I'm fighting for what's important: family, freedom, and good old pipeweed. _

_I'll see you in the future,_

_Merry_



When one crests a certain hill there is a valley below and there stands the White City, like a giant layered cake. When Rannyn crested that hill the White City was damaged, the sky was dark, and the valley was swarming with those defending Minas Tirith and those that wanted to destroy it. Somewhere in that city was Threwen. Somewhere in that city she was waiting for him. And he was going to see to it that he would come back to her.

"This is it, my friend," whispered Blaennyn. He nodded toward the battle with a grin, although his eyes showed the fear he was feeling.

"Yes, it is," replied Rannyn, patting his horse. He looked back at his friend and smiled, feeling scared but also exhilarated. They were going to get a piece of these guys and even if they didn't win, they'd go down fighting.

**Yay, Rannyn's back in. I have to admit, even though I'm the author, I missed him. Get ready for the battle and for another chapter. **


	16. Arrival

**A/N: Okay, so I'm really, really, REALLY sorry to all the people I've kept waiting with this story! But I have NOT GIVEN UP ON IT! it will finish, I promise. I just haven't had the time, especially since I switched accounts and all that. Anyway, please enjoy the ridiculously long awaited update. Hope it satisfies.**

"'_I'll see you in the future._' It's signed by someone named Merry." Garan put down the piece of paper with its odd handwriting and ever more confusing contents.

"Maybe it's in code," Naeven tried. She seemed to be grasping for something to convict Threwen.

The jail keeper sighed and seated himself next to her, placing his elbow on the table. Bad idea. It hurt, thanks to Threwen's escape earlier that day. He hadn't even noticed it in the excitement but the little bugger had slammed his arm against the ground when she jumped him. He winced, which drew Naeven's attention from the present predicament. He credited this to the fact that she was a healer and had some sort of innate instincts when it came to someone's hurts. She had to patch them up. The only thing wrong with that was that she often got carried away with helping others and forgot to patch up her own hurts, whether physical or emotional.

"What's wrong?" his female companion asked with concern, immediately alert to his ailments.

Garan nearly rolled his eyes as he lifted up his elbow for her to inspect. "I just whacked it and it's a little bruised." He cringed again at her pressing on it, showing him that it was a pretty nasty bruise.

"Did she do this to you?" Naeven asked as she stood up to get a better look, again trying to shift blame on the foreigner in their house. She was sure some sentimental letter from Merry to Pip wouldn't sway her into thinking a former spy was above reproach. And it seemed to Garan that her finding out about Threwen's rather harsh treatment of him during her escape would only make Naeven more suspicious and possibly irrational.

So he lied.

"No. I must have hit it when I was near the Warg." He nearly regretted bringing it up again. The fact that Threwen had been revealed as what Naeven would call a criminal had, at the time, caused her to forget that he had said "Warg". That was not so now.

Her eyes flicked up to his face from the purpled elbow, remembering that he had mentioned such an incident. There was something there that Garan caught. It was worry, for sure, and then a monumental amount of concern and horror. It was as if the idea of him being near such a vicious animal was enough to make her blood run cold. It had made his do just as much when he was face to face with it and he was sure the imagination could conjure up much worse images than what he had actually witnessed. The things that he could believe were going through her mind made him want to sooth her fears as quickly as possible.

"I'm sorry," was the first thing that popped out of his mouth as the dark-haired woman's expression went from upset to weary. She sank back down into her chair, placing a slender but chapped hand on her forehead. She then picked up the shawl lying on the table and wrapped it around her shoulders.

It seemed like Minas Tirith was cold these days, from both the winds that came from the sea and the chill that had settled in before the attack. It was like a shiver down the city's spine, a warning of the malice that was lurking on its borders. Such things had made the Gondorians bundle up and turn their faces from the wind when they should have geared up and prepared for battle sooner. They should have heeded the shivers, the hairs being raised on the backs of their necks, the goosebumps breaking out on their skin.

Garan had just lain a comforting hand on Naeven's back, rubbing it gently and becoming painfully aware of how knotted it was with hard work and worry, when a loud horn blast sounded. No, it was more than one horn. Rather, an army of them.

_An army_!

Both of them leapt up and rushed toward the door, careful when opening it for fear of letting something in. But the street seemed nearly empty except for the aftermath of a small skirmish, which had seemed much larger when in play. Now it was as if they had all gone down to the lower levels. Maybe they needed more troops there. Maybe the men of their fair city had found strength left to fight.

Then it rang out again, low and clear, the calls of the horns of the Rohirrim. Garan and Naeven looked at each other with obvious joy.

Their allies had arrived.



Exhilaration.

Speed.

Power.

War.

These were pounding in the ears of Rannyn as he urged Isidien forward, aware of Blaennyn at his side, the ground rushing beneath his horse's feet, and the darkened sky that stretched all the way to the pinnacle of Minas Tirith. He knew the odds against them. He knew that even if they won this battle it wasn't the last. And he knew that on this day, he could very well die. But he also knew that on this day, with these odds, and in this battle, he was going to fight until there was nothing left in him. Because he had something to fight for.

With another heel into Isidien's side, Rannyn moved out, closer and closer to the line of orcs standing in their way with spears, broad swords, and a hunger for killing. He unsheathed his sword. He leaned forward so that he could feel Isidien's mane on his face. And he hit that line with full force, nearly unseating him, but easily killing those that stood in his way. The enemies were trampled by the hoofs of thousands of horses as the men of Rohan charged against the forces of Mordor.

King Théoden seemed like a beacon of gold in his armor, shining on top of Snowmane, as he drove down his opponents right and left. His nephew was even more of a fearsome sight on the battlefield, his eyes full of the rage and power of a seasoned warrior. Even Blaennyn, the eternal joker and optimist, had that light in his eyes as he trotted through on his proud horse, giving a sarcastic parting word to his enemies.

And Rannyn simply parried, thrust, and sliced, paying little attention to those that opposed him other than they bore the mark of the Dark Lord. Time was at a standstill, the fields of Pelennor were stained, and they all carried on.

While many after that day have asked why, with such terrors before them, would they choose to persevere, against all odds, the answer is much like that of Rannyn's to Lady Eowyn. I suppose they all went to war knowing that they might die. It was a risk they all took. But if they died fighting for the cause that they believed in –for the people left at home, for the fields near Edoras, for the crops, the horses, and the family– if they died to give a life to those they left behind, then they would go to their deaths gladly. Not for honor or valor or for their glory immortalized in songs of the Elves, but for the people.

On that day, they fought, toiled, killed, and died for Rohan.

**A/N: Ooh, so dramatic. Is it too cheesy? Let me know please because I was trying to convey in words how I would've envisioned the looks on their faces as they fought and the thoughts behind it. Why they were so determined. Why they would die for their country. What their motivation was. anyway, reviews are appreciated but not needed. I like constructive criticism, but am not the biggest fan of simple flames. Thanks for reading! **


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